MHKHI 


I 


91 


9HHI 


A  NOBLE  LORD. 


THE  SEQUEL  TO 


"THE  LOST  HEIR  OF  LINLITHGOW." 


BY 


,  EMMA  D.  E.  N,  SOUTHWORTIL 

AUTHOR  OP  "FAIR  PLAY,"  "now  HE  WON  HER,"  "CFIAXHED  BRIDES,"  "BRIDE'S  FATE,' 

"CRUEL    AS    THE   GRAVE,"      "TRIED     FOR    HER    LIFE,"      "RETRIBUTION," 

"THE  LOST  HEIRESS,"  "FORTUNE  SEEKER,"  "DESERTED  WIFE,"  ETC. 


The  monarch  mind,  the  mystery  of  commanding, 

The  birth  hour  gift,  the  art  Napole&iie, 
Of  winning,  fettering,  moulding,  wielding,  bunding 

The  hearts  of  millions,  till  they  nmve  as  one. 

FITZ-GREENE  UALLECK. 


PHILADELPHIA: 
T.    B.    PETERSON    &    BROTHERS; 

306     CHESTNUT     STREET. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1572,  by 

T.  B.   PETERSON   &    BROTHERS, 
In  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress,  at  Washington,  D.  C. 

MRS.  EMMA  D,  E,  N.  SOUTHWORTH'S  WORKS. 

Each  Work  is  complete  in  one  large  duodecimo  volume. 

A    NOBLE    LORD.     Sequel  to    "  The  Lo-t  Heir  of  Linlit!iy»w." 
THE  LOST  HEIR  OF  LINLITHGOW. 
THE  FAMILY  DOOM;  or,  THE  SI  A  OF  A  COUNTESS. 
THE  MAIDEN  WIDO  W.    Sequel  to  "  The  Family  Doom." 
CRUEL  AS  THE  GRAVE. 
THE  PRINCE  OF  DARKNESS. 
THE  MOTHER-IN-LAW. 
THE  DESERTED   WIFE. 

THE  CHANGED  BRIDES. 

THE  BRIDE'S  FATE.    SEQUEL  TO  CHANGED  BRIDES. 
TRIED  FOR  HER  LIFE.     A  Sequel  to  "Cruel  as  the  Grave." 
THE  BRIDE  OF  LLEWELLYN. 
THE  GIPSY'S  PROPHECY. 
THE  FORTUNE  SEEKER. 
THE  LOST  HEIRESS. 
THE  CHRISTMAS  GUEST. 
THE  BRIDAL  EVE. 

THE  THREE  BEAUTIES. 

FAIR  PLAY;  OR,  THE  TEST  OF  THE  LONE  ISLE. 
HOW  HE  WON  HER.     A  SEQUEL  TO  FAIR  PLAY. 
THE  FATAL  MARRIAGE. 

THE  HAUNTED  HOMESTEAD. 
LOVE'S  LABOR   WON. 

THE  MISSING  BRIDE. 
LADY  OF  THE  ISLE. 

THE   WIFE'S  VICTORY. 
THE  TWO  SISTERS. 

FALLEN  PRIDE;  OR,  THE  MOUNTAIN  GIRL'S  LOVE. 
INDIA;    OR,  THE  PEARL   OF  PEARL   HIVE II. 
VI VI A;  OR,   THE  SECRET  OF  POWER. 
THE  CURSE  OF  CLIFTON. 

THE  DISCARDED  DAUGHTER. 
THE   WIDOW'S  SON. 
ALL  WOR  TH  A  IS  III-:  Y. 

RETRIBUTION. 
Price  of  each,  $1.75  in  Cloth  ;  or  31.50  in  Paper  Cover. 


Above  books  are  for  sale  by  all  Booksellers.  Copies  of  any  or 
all  of  the  above  books  will  be  sent  to  any  one,  to  any  place, 
postage  pre-paid,  on  receipt  of  their  price  by  the  Publishers, 

T.  B.  PETERSOX  &  BROTHERS, 

306  CHESTNUT  STREET,  PHILADELPHIA,  PA. 


CONTENTS. 


Chapter  Page 

i.— BENNY'S  HAVEN 21 

II.— ARIELLE 30 

in. — POOR  BENNY'S  PURGATORY 37 

iv. — BENNY'S  BURDEN  TOO  HEAVY  TO  BE  BOKNE..    47 

V. — THE   BURG  LARY 54 

VI. — THE   NIGHT   ALARM   AT   WOODBINE    COTTAGE...      63 

VII. — THE    DETECTIVE 72 

VIII. — THE   DUEL. 82 

IX. — AFTER   TIIK   FATAL   DUEL 03 

X. — BAD   NEWS   AT   CHARLES   STREET 101 

XL— HOW  BENNY   WAS    BETRAYED 116 

XII. — HOW   BENNY   WAS   COMMITTED   FOR   TRIAL 125 

XIII. — THE   LITTLE   PRISONER 133 

XIV. — THE   LITTLE   OUTCAST   IN   PRISON 145 

xv.— BENNY'S  FATE 152 

xvi. — BENNY'S  STRUGGLE 102 

XVII. — TRIUMPHS  OF  TIME — THE   YOUNG    PRIMA  DONNA.   171 
XVIII. — THE    PRIMA    DONNA   AND   TUB    RETURNED    CON- 
VICT     182 

XIX.— TWO   FATES 191 

xx. — BENJAMIN'S  STORY 197 

(10) 


20  CONTENTS. 

Chapter  Page 

XXI. — THE  TWO < 209 

XXII. — THE  OUTCAST  IN  SEAKCH  OF  HIS    PEDIGREE...    219 

XXIII.— MISTKESS   AND  MAN 228 

XXIV. — THE    LITTLE   SUPPER 236 

xxv. — THE  EARL'S  LOVE 245 

XXVI.— THE    BROTHERS    FACE  TO  FACE 253 

xxvii. — THE  OUTCAST'S  LOVE 259 

xxviii. — THE  OUTCAST'S  LAST  OFFERING 272 

XXIX. — LOVE'S  MARTYRDOM 276 

XXX. — WHAT  THE  SACRIFICE  COST 289 

XXXI.— THE  LOST  STAR 297 

XXXII. — FETTERED   LOVE 306 

XXXIII. — COUNSEL    AND    CLIENT 317 

XXXIV.— STARTLING    NEWS 328 

xxxv.— BENJAMIN'S  NEW  NAME 335 

XXXVI. — TO  THE  WAR  ! 347 

XXXVII. — LOVE'S    MISTAKES 353 

xxxviii. — BENNY'S  RISE 3(51 

XXXIX.— VICTORY   AND    DEATH 3G8 

XL.— PROOFS 380 

XLI.— AT   SETON    ON  THE    LOCH 390 

XLII.— NEWS   OF    SUZY 300 

XLIII. — NEWS  FOR  THE    DUKE   AND   DUCHKSS 402 

XLIV. — "PASS TNG    THE   LOVE  OF   WOMAN." 410 

XLV.— VICTORY  OF  LOVE 417 


A  NOBLE  LORD. 


CHAPTER  I. 
BENNY'S  HAVEN. 

It  is  a  home  to  die  for,  as  it  stands 

Through  its  vine  foliage,  sending  forth  a  sound 
Of  mirthful  childhood  o'er  the  green  repose 

And  laughing  sunshine  of  the  pastures  round. — FELICIA  HEMANS. 

"  WHY,  what  a  pretty  boy !  But  surely,  Charlie,  dear, 
you  never  got  this  boy  out  of  the  work-house  !"  exclaimed 
Mrs.  Faulkner,  half  in  admiration,  half  in  pity,  as  she 
gazed  at  Benny. 

"  Well,  1  did,  then,  and  I  have  got  him  regularly  inden- 
tured to  me,"  answered  the  Captain,  drawing  a  document 
from  his  pocket  and  holding  it  up  before  his  wife. 

"But  then  this  fair,  refined  looking  lad!  He  never 
could  have  belonged  to  the  working  classes !  And  I'm 
sure  he'll  never  do  for  a  servant,"  said  Molly. 

The  Captain  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  It  is  hard  telling  where  such  children  come  from.  I 
like  him  all  the  better  for  his  good  looks.  And  as  to  his 
never  doing  for  a  servant,  we'll  see  that." 

"  But  what  odd  clothes  he  has  got  on  ! " 

"It  is  the  work-house  uniform ;  but  we'll  change  all  that 
to-morrow,  and  put  him  into  a  page's  livery — army  blue, 
with  brass  buttons.  Eh,  my  lad  !  wouldn't  you  like  a  dress 

(21) 


22  A      NOBLE     LORD. 

of  that  sort?"  inquired  the  Captain  good-naturedly,  turn- 
ing to  his  new  servant. 

"Oh,  yes,  sir,  please  !"  eagerly  answered  Benny,  smiling 
all  over  his  face,  and  gazing  around  upon  the  prettiest  room 
he  ever  was  in  in  his  life,  except  the  grand  drawing-room 
at  Brunswick  Terrace,  Brighton. 

"  You  must  look  straight  at  me  when  I  speak  to  you, 
Benjamin  ;  do  you  hear  '/  "  said  the  Captain. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  the  boy. 

"  Is  his  name  Benjamin  ?"  inquired  Molty. 

"  Yes,  Benjamin  Hurst.  And  he  is  bound  to  me  until 
he  is  eighteen  years  old,"  replied  Captain  Faulkner. 

"  He  is  too  delicate  to  make  a  good  servant.  You'll 
repent  your  bargain,"  persisted  Molly. 

"We'll  see!  Benjamin,  can  you  wait  at  table?"  in- 
quired the  Captain. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  answered  the  boy, 

"  Did  you  ever  do  it  ?"  inquired  Mrs.  Faulkner. 

"No,  missus;  but  I  know  I  could,"  said  the  boy,  still 
letting  his  eyes  wander  around  the  charming  room. 

"Bravo!"  exclaimed  the  Captain,  approvingly. 

"Are  you  an  orphan,  Benjamin?"  kindly  inquired  the 
lady. 

The  boy's  fair  face  clouded  over. 

"  No,  missus,"  he  answered  sadly. 

"Well,  then,  where  are  your  parents?" 

The  boy  hesitated  for  a  moment  and  then  answered : 

"  Mother's  in  the  'sylum  and  father's  ruiincd  away ; " 
and  as  he  spoke,  the  tears  filled  his  eyes. 

"  Poor  fellow !  Well,  never  mind.  You  will  be  happy 
with  us  here,"  said  Moll}7,  pitifully. 

"  If  you  do  3'our  duty,"  added  the  Captain. 

"  Now  come  in  to  supper,  Charley,"  said  Molly,  rising  to 
lead  the  way  into  the  neat  dining-room. 

"And  you  come  too,  my  lad,  and  lake  your  first  lesson  in 
waiting,"  said  Captain  Faulkner. 


BENNY'S    HAVEN.  23 

And  the  husband  and  wife  went  and  sat  down  to  the 
well-spread  table,  and  Benny  stood  waiting,  attentive, 
eager,  anxious  to  be  useful. 

With  his  quick  intelligence  and  ready  obedience  he 
easily  learned  his  duties,  and  completely  satisfied  his  new 
master  and  mistress. 

When  supper  was  over,  Mrs.  Faulkner  rang  for  the  cook, 
and  told  her  to  take  the  new  boy  into  the  kitchen  and  give 
him  his  supper,  and  then  to  make  a  bed  for  him  in  the  loft 
over  the  scullery. 

"Aud  mind,"  said  the  cook,  as  she  took  him  away, 
"  after  this  yer  to  clear  off  the  table  as  well  as  wait  on  it." 

"  Yes'm,"  answered  Benny,  cheerfully. 

"And  you  must  be  up  early  in  the  morning,  and  come 
down  here  and  make  the  fire  for  me  against  I  get  up,"  con- 
tinued the  cook,  who  seemed  to  think  the  boy  was  taken 
into  the  house  only  for  her  benefit. 

But  Benny  willingly  agreed  to  all  her  requirements,  for 
he  was  pleased  with  his  new  master  and  mistress,  pleased 
with  the  cottage  and  the  country,  and  pleased  with  his  own 
prospects. 

And  when  he  had  had  a  good  supper  and  found  himself 
in  his  bed,  in  a  clean,  bare,  well-ventilated  loft,  he  could 
not  go  to  bleep  for  thinking  how  prosperous  and  happy  he 
was. 

He  had  always  been  anxious  to  be  a  "  good  boy."  He 
had  often  run  great  risks  to  "  hook "  groceries,  or  fruit,  or 
anything  for  his  friends,  because  they  would  reward  him  by 
calling  him  a  "  good  boy,"  and  he  would  believe  them. 
And  now,  lying  on  his  bed,  he  aspired  to  deserve  his 
prosperity  and  happiness  by  being  a  very  good  boy,  yes, 
the  very  best  of  boys !  And  he  resolved  to  rise  very  early 
in  the  morning  to  perform  his  duties. 

Poor  fellow !  Proper  teachers  might  have  make  a  good 
and  useful  man  of  him,  but  would  Captain  Faulkuer,  the 
ruined  gainuster,  be  the  proper  teacher  ?  We  shall  see. 


Z4  A      NOBLE      LORD. 

Ah !  well,  there  are  hundreds  of  thousands  of  boys  and 
girls  as  well  meaning,  as  badly  trained  as  Benny  Hurst. 
I  take  him  as  an  example  only  because  I  knew  him. 

Legislators  spare  hundreds  from  the  saving  of  the  inno- 
cents, and  then  have  to  spend  millions  in  the  punishment  of 
the  criminals  that  neglect  has  left  them  to  become  !  Even 
an  old  wife's  proverb  might  teach  them  better  economy  : 
"An  ounce  of  prevention  is  better  than  a  pound  of  cure." 

But  to  return  to  Benny,  who,  in  his  weary  pilgrimage 
through  the  desert  of  this  world,  had  just  now  come  upon 
an  oasis. 

Benny,  having  charged  himself  to  do  so,  awoke  early  in 
the  morning,  and  went  down  into  the  kitchen  and  made  up 
the  fire  for  the  cook. 

And  then,  as  no  one  in  the  house  was  stirring,  and  as  he 
did  not  know  what  else  to  do  with  himself,  he  went  out 
into  the  garden. 

It  was  midsummer.  There  were  green  trees  and  shrubs 
and  grass,  and  ripe  fruit  and  bright  flowers,  and  a  soft  blue 
sky,  and  a  pure,  fresh  atmosphere. 

"  This  was  Heaven  !  Yes,  surely  this  was  Heaven  !  "  he 
mused.  Benny  had  never  in  his  life  seen  the  country  in 
the  summer!  No  wonder  he  thought  it  was  Heaven. 

Presently  the  children,  up  long  before  their  parents,  ran 
out  into  the  garden,  and  seeing  the  young  stranger,  gath- 
ered around  him  with  child-like  friendliness,  and  asked  him 
what  was  his  name,  and  where  he  was  from,  and  whether 
he  wouldn't  like  to  see  the  bee-hive  and  the  hen-roost. 

And  Benny,  charmed  with  the  beauty  and  brightness 
and  kindliness  of  his  little  friends,  told  them  that  he  was 
the  new  boy,  and  meant  to  do  his  best. 

And  then  Charlej'  would  have  taken  him  off  to  look  at 
the  duck  pond,  only  that  the  shrill  voice  of  the  cook  was 
heard,  loudly  calling  to  Benny  to  come  into  the  house  and 
learn  to  lay  the  cloth  for  breakfast. 


B  EN  NY'S      H  A  YEN.  25 

And  Benny,  though  loath  to  leave  his  little  friends,  ran. 
eagerly  into  the  house  to  do  as  he  was  bid. 

That  day  Benny  was  put  into  his  new  page's  livery — a 
dark  blue  jacket  and  trowsers,  with  three  rows  of  buttons 
on  the  breast  of  the  jacket.  And  a  very  pretty  page  he 
made,  fit  for  any  lady's  boudoir. 

And  that  day  Captain  Faulkner,  Mrs.  Faulkner  and  the 
cook  alternately  gave  Benny  instructions  in  his  new  duties, 
which,  to  the  lad's  wondering  mind,  seemed  utterly  incon- 
sistent with  and  contradictory  to  each  other. 

For  instance,  Mrs.  Faulkner  said  to  him  : 

"And  above  all  things,  Benjamin,  remember  this:  that 
whatever  you  do,  you  must  always  tell  the  truth." 

"  Yes,  missus,"  answered  the  boy. 

"  And  never,  never,  XEVER  tell  a  lie." 

"  No,  missus." 

And  a  little  later  in  the  day  Captain  Faulkner  said  to 
him : 

"  It  will  be  your  duty,  Benjamin,  to  attend  the  door  bell. 
And  when  any  one  asks  if  I  am  at  home  you  must  say  that 
you  don't  know,  but  that  you'll  go  and  see.  Do  you  under- 
stand?" 

"  Yes,  sir ;  but  must  I  say  it  when  J  know  you  be  at 
home  ?  "  inquired  Benny. 

"  Certainly,  you  blockhead  !  You  must  literally  obey  my 
orders,  and  say  that  you  don't  know  whether  I'm  at  homo 
or  not ;  but  you'll  come  and  see.  And  then  come  straight 
to  me  for  further  orders." 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  You  understand  now  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  sir." 

In  the  afternoon  Mrs.  Faulkner  said  to  him  : 

'•  Benny,  you  must  be  honest,  you  know." 

"  Yes,  missus." 

"  And  never  take  even  so  much  as  a  pin  that  don't  belong 
to  you." 


26  A      N  O  15  L  E      L  O  R  D. 

"No,  missus." 

lu  the  evening,  while  he  sat  by  the  kitchen  window  with 
the  cook,  that  worthy  woman  said  to  him  : 

"And  long  as  you  tend  on  the  house,  boy,  and  see  any 
little  thing  laying  around  loose  like,  such  as  a  spool  o'  cot- 
ton, or  a  paper  o'  needles,  or  any  trifle,  you  pick  it  right  up, 
and  bring  it  to  me  to  put  away,  you  know,  Benny,  and  then 
I'll  give  you  a  hot  cake  when  I  bake,  and  you  needn't  say 
nothing  about  it  to  nobody;  do  you  hear,  boy?  " 

<  Yes'm." 

"  That's  a  good  boy." 

Benny  went  up  to  his  cool  loft  that  night  feeling  very 
much  confused  with  all  these  contradictory  orders.  But 
having  also  much  pleasanter  things  to  think  of,  in  the  chil- 
dren and  the  garden,  and  all  the  new  charms  of  his  present 
life,  he  quickly  ceased  to  trouble  himself  in  the  vain  attempt 
to  reconcile  inconsistencies. 

He  was  very  happy  in  his  new  situation ;  there  was  not  a 
good  thing  in  it  that  he  did  not  keenly  appreciate :  his  own 
clean  clothes  and  airy  lodging  and  good  food,  and  the  pretty 
cottage  and  fruitful  garden  and  pleasant  country,  and  the 
good-humored  master  and  mistress  and  the  friendly  chil- 
dren ! 

And  he  firmly  resolved  to  deserve  his  good  luck  by  being 
the  very  best  of  boys. 

And  by  way  of  keeping  this  resolution,  he  lied  boldly 
whenever  Captain  Faulkner  ordered  him  to  do  so. 

Captain  Faulkner  had  contracted  some  new  debts  in  the 
neighborhood  where  he  now  lived,  and  he  did  not  mean  to 
pay  them.  The  gallant  Captain  was  in  the  habit  of  con- 
tracting debts,  and  not  in  the  habit  of  paying  them.  And 
now  he  made  Benny  deny  him  to  every  man  who  came  to 
the  house  with  a  bill. 

"  Here  comes  another  one  up  the  lane,  boy.  Go  to  the 
dour,  and  tell  him  I'm  not  home.  Tell  him  I'm  at  the  sea- 


BENNY'S    HAVEN.  27 

side,  and  won't  be  home  for  a  month,"  said  the  Captain  one 
morning,  as,  looking  through  his  bed-room  window,  he  saw 
the  approach  of  a  dun. 

Benny  went  down  and  opened  the  door  to  the  unwelcome 
visitor,  when  the  following  colloquy  ensued : 

"  I  wish  to  see  the  Captain,"  said  the  visitor. 

"  He  an't  home,  sir,"  replied  Benny  boldly. 

"  An't  home  !     Are  you  sure  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  sir  ;  certain  sure.  The  Capting,  sir,  have  gone 
down  to  the  seaside,  sir,  which  the  doctor  ordered  of  him 
there  for  his  'ealth,  sir,"  answered  Benny,  improving  upon 
the  story  that  had  been  put  in  his  mouth. 

"  At  the  seaside  is  he  ? "  repeated  the  visitor  incredu- 
lously. 

"  Oh,  yes,  sir ;  and  won't  be  home  for  a  month,  sir,  which 
the  doctor  ordered,  fearing  of  gonstumption." 

"  Consumption  !  Yes  ;  he  looked  like  consumption — of 
beef  and  beer ! — when  I  saw  him  at  the  window  as  I  came 
up  the  lane !  "  said  the  visitor,  with  an  incredulous  laugh. 

Benny  was  "taken  aback"  for  a  moment,  but  being  a 
sharp  boy,  he  soon  recovered  his  self-possession  and  in- 
quired : 

"  Did  you  mean  the  gemman  as  was  a  tying  of  his  kervat 
at  the  windy  up  there,  sir  ?  " 

"  Of  course  I  did.     I  saw  him  plain  enough." 

"  Lor'  bless  you,  sir  !  that  were  masters  brother,  sir,  as 
is  the  very  moral  of  'iin,  sir ;  and  come  down  from  London 
last  night,  sir,  to  see  missus  and  the  children,  sir,  which  he 
is  going  up  to  town  this  arternoon,  sir,  said  Benny,  telling 
the  first  plausible  story  that  came  into  his  head. 

The  dun  was  no  match  for  the  street  boy,  and  whether  he 
entirely  believed  the  statement  or  not,  he  had  to  go  away. 

Benny  went  back  to  his  master  and  repeated  to  him  the 
whole  interview. 

And  oh !  shame  of  manhood  !  the  noble  Captain  laughed 


28  ANOBLELORD. 

heartily,  and  clapped  the  poor  ignorant  boy  on  the  back, 
saying : 

"  Benjamin,  you  are  the  very  brightest  boy  I  ever  saw  in 
my  life !  that  you  are !  You  are  a  real  treasure,  Benjie  ! 
you  are,  indeed  !  I  wish  I  had  half  a  crown  to  give  you  !  " 

"  Please,  sir,"  said  Benny,  plucking  up  spirit  to  make  his 
desires  known,  "  I  don't  want  half  a  crown.  I'd  rather 
have—" 

"  What  ?  A  whole  crown,  I  suppose  ? "  laughed  the 
Captain. 

"  No,  sir ;  I  meant  a  half  a  holiday  some  o'  these  days, 
please,  sir." 

"  What  do  you  want  with  half  a  holiday,  Benjamin  ?  " 

"  Please,  sir,  to  go  and  see  Suzy  Juniper,  sir,  please." 

"  Ha  !  ha  !  ha  !  ho !  ho !  ho !  Suzy  Juniper,  eh  ?  Who's 
Suzy  Juniper  ?  Your  young  woman  ?  "  laughingly  inquir- 
ed the  Captain,  who  was  ia  a  very  good  humor  with  his 
bright  page. 

"  She's  a  friend  o'  mine,  please,  sir,"  answered  Benny 
simply. 

"  Ah  !  a  friend  of  yours  !  "  laughed  the  Captain. 

"  But  a  very  nice  girl,  for  all  that,  sir ! "  added  Benny, 
who  did  not  quite  like  his  master's  tone. 

"  Oh,  of  course  !  a  very  nice  girl !  " 

"And  a  deal  cleverer  'n  I  am,  please,  sir.  She — "  He 
stopped  and  hesitated.  Ever  since  the  double  tragedy  of 
the  Flowers  girls,  he  had  associated  in  his  own  rnind  so 
much  of  vice  and  crime  with  the  Thespian  ballet,  that,  even 
little  outcast  as  he  was,  he  was  ashamed  to  tell  the  occupa- 
tion of  his  little  friend. 

"Well,  what  about  her?"  good-naturedly  inquired  the 
Captain. 

"  She's  a  carpenter's  daughter,  please,  sir." 

"  Oh,  a  very  decent  origin  !  Well,  Benjamin,  when  you 
have  been  with  us  a  mouth,  and  continued  to  be  as  sharp 


B  E  N  N  Y    S     H  A  V  E  N.  29 

and  serviceable  as  you  are  now,  you  shall  have  your  half 
holiday  to  go  and  see  Miss  Suzy.  And  every  mouth,  as  a 
reward  for  good  conduct,  you  shall  have  the  same  indul- 
gence," 

"  Thank  y',  sir,  please,  sir,"  answered  Benny,  pulling  his 
forelock. 

And  from  that  day,  if  it  had  been  possible  to  have  in- 
creased his  zeal  and  diligence  in  the  service  of  the  Captain 
and  his  family,  Benny  would  have  done  it. 

The  poor  boy  was  very  happy  at  this  time.  Next  to  his 
pleasure  in  serving  his  master  and  mistress,  was  his  pleas- 
ure in  playing  with  the  children,  with  whom  he  mixed  on 
almost  equal  terms ;  for  children,  when  unperverted.,  are 
very  democratic,  although  they  ccmbe  trained  to  become  the 
most  intolerant  little  snobs  on  earth.  But  there  was  a  very 
loose  system  of  family  government  at  the  Faulkners',  and 
the  poor  bound  boy  was  permitted  to  associate  freely  with 
the  children.  Indeed,  so  much  faith  had  his  mistress  in 
Benny,  that  whenever  she  would  lose  sight  of  her  little 
ones  for  any  length  of  time,  and  inquire  for  them  and  hear 
that  they  were  out  with  Benny,  she  would  say  : 

"  Oh,  if  Benjamin  is  with  them,  it  is  all  right  ;  he  will  be 
sure  to  take  care  of  them." 


30  ANOBLELORD. 

CHAPTER  II. 

ARIELLE. 

She  comes,  the  spirit  of  the  dance  ! 
Now  gliding  slow  with  dreamy  grace. 

Her  eyes  beneath  their  lashes  lost ; 
Now  motionless  with  lifted  face, 

And  small  bauds  on  her  bosom  crossed. 
And  now  with  Rushing  eyes  she  springs— 

Her  whole  bright  figure  raised  in  air, 
As  if  her  soul  had  spread  its  wings 

And  poised  her  one  wild  instant  there! 
She  spoke  not,  but  so  richly  fraught 

With  language  are  her  glance  and  smile, 
That  when  she  disappeared  they  thought 

She  had  been  talking  all  the  while — FRANCIS  Osooon, 

BUT  the  month  drew  to  a  close,  and  the  day  came  when 
the  boy  was  to  have  his  half  holiday. 

vBut  they  gave  it  to  him  on  Sunday  afternoon,  when  he 
could  best  be  spared,  for  if  the  family  never  went  to  church, 
neither  did  they  ever  work  on  the  Sabbath  day. 

"  I  suppose  you'd  just  as  lief  have  your  holiday  now  as 
any  other  day,  wouldn't  you,  my  lad  ?  "  confidentially  in- 
quired the  good-natured  Captain,  who  treated  his  bound  boy 
with  great  familiarity. 

"  Oh,  yes,  sir,  and  a  heap  liefer  !  'Cause  Suzy's  always 
off  o'  Sundays,"  smiled  Benny. 

"  Off?  what  do  you  mean  by  off?  "  laughed  his  master. 

Benny  blushed.  Uot  for  the  world  would  he  have 
answered,  "  Off  the  boards,"  so  he  replied  evasively  : 

"  She  an't  got  nothing  partic'lar  to  do,  sir." 

"  Oh  ! — well,  get  along  with  you.  And  be  sure  to  be  home 
time  enough  to  get  ready  for  your  work  to-morrow,"  were 
the  last  charges  the  Captain  gave  to  his  boy. 

And  at  twelve,  noon,  Benny,  in  his  clean  linen  and  well- 
brushed  page's  suit,  and  his  well-polished  shoes  and  new 
cap,  and  feeling  happy  as  a  prince,  set  out  to  walk  to  Lou- 
don.  He  exulted  in  the  consciousness  of  being  clean,  well 


A  R  I  E  L  L  E.  81 

lodged,  well  fed,  well  clothed,  well  liked,  respectable  and 
independent.  Yes,  even  independent !  for  the  yoke  of  the 
kindly,  shiftless  Faulkners  was  so  light  that  he  scarcely  felt 
it,  or  felt  it  only  as  a  protection. 

He  was  eager  to  reach  London  and  the  Thespian  Yard  to 
show  himself  in  his  new  clothes  to  Suzy  Juniper. 

He  walked  very  fast,  he  ran,  and  sometimes  he  sprang  up 
behind  a  cab  and  got  a  free  ride  for  a  mile  or  two  before  he 
would  have  to  jump  down  again  to  avoid  the  lash  of  the 
driver. 

Thus  in  less  than  an  hour  he  found  himself  on  Waterloo 
bridge,  and  in  a  few  minutes  more  he  entered  the  dark  alley 
leading  to  the  courtyard  behind  the  Thespian  theatre,  at  the 
back  of  which  stood  the  old  pile  of  buildings  where  the 
Junipers  lodged. 

He  found  the  father  and  mother,  with  their  large  family, 
sitting  at  their  early  dinner. 

Benny  took  off  his  smart  cap,  and  bowed  to  them ;  but 
they  only  stopped  eating  and  stared  at  him,  until  Suzy 
sprang  up,  overturning  her  chair  in  her  haste,  and  ran  to 
him,  exclaiming : 

"  Why,  it's  Benny  !  Why,  Benny,  what  ever  has  come 
to  you  ?  Where  have  you  been  ?  They  told  us  you  had 
died  in  the  'ospital." 

"  I  think  I  must  a  died  there,  Suzy,  and  gone  to  Heaven, 
'cause  I'm  so  jolly  'appy  now  !"  replied  the  boy,  laughing. 

But  before  another  word  could  be  spoken,  all  the  other 
Junipers,  who  now  recognized  Benny,  left  their  seats  at  the 
table  and  came  around  him  with  more  exclamations  than  I 
could  repeat,  and  more  questions  than  he  could  answer. 

"  Let  the  boy  sit  down  and  have  some  dinner,  and  then 
he'll  tell  us  all  about  it.  How  smart  and  handsome  he  do 
look,  to  be  sure  !  "  said  Mrs.  Juniper  kindly,  as  she  placed 
another  chair  at  the  full  table,  and  made  Benny  crowd  in. 

"  Now  all  on  you  sit  down  again  and  eat  yer  dinner  before 


82  A      NOBLE      LORD. 

it  spoils.  We'd  only  just  begun,  Benny,  which  it  is  a  baked 
leg  o'  mutton  and  potatoes,  and  a  happle  tart,  being  Sun- 
day," explained  Mrs.  Juniper. 

Benny,  having  a  fine  appetite  of  his  own,  did  his  duty 
faithfully  in  helping  to  demolish  the  joint,  and  afterward  the 
pie.  But  in  the  intervals  of  his  exertions,  he  managed  to 
satisfy  the  curiosity  of  his  friends  by  Celling  them  : 

"  As  I've  heerd  the  misses  say,  Mrs.  Juniper,  how  I  were 
reely  guv  up  for  dead  and  tuk  out  to  the  dead-house,  which 
they  was  just  agoing  to  nail  me  down  in  the  coffing,  when 
all  of  a  suddint  I  cum  to,  and  opened  of  my  eyes  and  sit 
right  up  in  the  coffing,  and  ast  them  what  the  blue  blazes 
they  meant  by  going  for  to  bury  a  cove  alive  !  I  don't  re- 
inember  it  myself >  but  that's  what  the  cusses  says  I  did," 
said  Benny,  giving  the  story  with  all  the  exaggerations  that 
the  gossips  of  the  hospital  had  added  to  it. 

"  Which  it's  my  belief  as  they  bury  many  and  many  a 
poor  body  alive,  that  I  do ! "  exclaimed  the  mother  of  the 
family. 

"  Lord  bless  my  soul,"  groaned  the  father,  as  he  left  the 
table  and  lighted  his  pipe  to  smoke  the  subject.  He  could 
always  see  more  clearly  through  the  fames  of  tobacco. 

"And  it's  my  belief,"  said  Benny,  as  he  cut  his  apple-tart 
— "  it's  my  belief  as  I  reely  did  die  and  go  'to  heaven." 

"  How  can  you  talk  so,  Benny,  when  you  know  very  well 
as  you're  on  earth  now  ! "  said  Suzy. 

"  You  wouldn't  think  so,  if  you  knowed  where  I'm  a 
living,  Suzy,"  answered  the  boy. 

And  he  told  them  all  about  his  being  removed  from  the 
hospital  to  the  work-house,  and  his  being  bound  to  Captain 
Faulkner,  and  about  his  life  at  Woodbine  Cottage. 

"  Well,  if  you  an't  in  heaven  you're  in  luck,  that's  cer- 
tain, Benny,"  said  Mrs.  Juniper. 

"  But,  Suzy,  you've  lost  all  your  nice  pink  and  white  color, 
and  you're  just  as  pale  and  thin  as — as — as  anything  !  "  .said 
Benny,  looking  wistfully  at  his  little  friend. 


A  R  I  E  L  L  E.  33 

"  That  an't  polite  of  3-011,  Bonny,"  answered  the  girl. 

"  But  what's  the  matter  ?  Are  you  ailing  ?  "  he  per- 
sisted. 

"  No,"  answered  Mrs.  Juniper,  speaking  for  her  daughter. 
"  It's  the  life  she  leads  ;  practising  and  rehearsing  all  the 
morning,  and  studying  all  the  afternoon  and  acting  all  the 
evening.  I  wish  the  child  had  never  seen  the  stage,  that  I 
do.  But  now  I  believe  it  would  break  her  heart  to  take  her 
off  it.  And  besides,  it  do  pay  handsome,  that's  a  fact,  and 
it  promises  to  pay  handsomer  still ;  for  they  do  say  as  she'll 
be  a  star  some  o'  these  days." 

"  Benny,  did  you  say  as  Woodbine  Cottage  was  near  the 
Helenic  Gardens  ?  "  inquired  the  girl. 

"Yes,  Suzy;  why?" 

"'Cause  I'm  engaged  to  dance  there  to-morrow.  It  is 
only  a  shilling,  and  may  be  }7ou  can  come." 

"  You  going  to  dance  at  the  Helenic  Gardens  !"  exclaimed 
Benny,  in  surprise. 

"  Yes,  Benny.  Our  manager  have  a  many  bids  for  me  to 
dance  at  places.  And  o'  Monday  I'm  agoing  to  dance  at 
the  Helenic.  May  be  you  can  come  and  see  me." 

"  I  should  like  to,  Suzy." 

"  And  may  be  you  can  get  your  master  and  missus  to 
come  and  bring  them  nice  children  as  is  so  fond  of  you, 
Benny.  I'm  sure  I'd  dance  my  best  if  I  thought  they'd  be 
there." 

"  You  should  always  dance  your  best,  Suzy,  if  you  wish  to 
rise  in  your  profession,"  said  Mrs.  Juniper. 

"  I  know  it,  mother ;  but  sometimes  I  do  get  that  tired  ! 
and  then,  if  anything  happens  to  put  the  spirits  into  my 
toes,  I  get  over  it  and  dance  my  best.  I  know  if  them  chil- 
dren as  is  so  fond  of  Benny  was  to  be  there  to-morrow  it 
would  put  the  spirits  into  my  toes,  and  I  would  dance  like 
hevery  thing." 

"If  that'll  do  you  any  good,  Suzy,  I'll  do  my  best  to  get 


34  A      N  0  B  L  E      L  O  R  P. 

'em  leave  to  go,"  said  Benny,  though  his  heart  aohed  at  the 
idea  of  his  "respectable"  master  and  mistress  finding  out 
that  his  own  little  friend  Suzy  Juniper  danced  on  the  stage. 

But  the  very  next  words  of  Suzy  relieved  his  mind  on 
that  subject. 

"  They're  not  agoing  to  put  me  down  in  the  bills  as 
'  Little  Miss  Juniper,  the  Infant  Wonder/  any  longer, 
Benny,"  she  said. 

"  Ah  !  they  an't,  an't  they  !  "  exclaimed  the  boy. 

"  No ;  and  as  I  am  too  tall  to  pass  for  an  '  Infant  Won- 
der,' and  they  don't  care  about  my  appearing  as  a  half-grown 
girl,  which  is  never  interesting,  they're  going  to  make  me 
out  as  a  fairy-like  young  lady,  and  set  me  down  in  the  bills 
as  Mademoiselle  Arielle.  Isn't  that  a  pretty  name  ?  " 

"Beautiful  name  !  But  the  people  who  go  to  the  Thes- 
pian will  know  you  are  the  '  Infant  Wonder  '  all  the  time." 

"No,  the  manager  says  not.  The  'Infant  Wonder'  has 
taken  leave  of  the  Thespian  forever.  And  now  we  are 
going  on  a  tower  through  the  country,  where  I  am  to  appear 
as  Mademoiselle  Arielle,  from  the  Theatre  Francais,  Paris. 
And  I  am  to  come  back  to  the  Thespian  next  winter  rind 
appear  as  the  Signorina  Zephyrina,  from  the  Italian  Opera, 
Florence.  Don't  you  see  ?  And  they'll  never  know  me 
again  as  the  old  '  Infant  Wonder.'" 

While  the  boy  and  girl  were  talking  Mrs.  Juniper  was 
making  tea. 

And  she  soon  called  them  to  the  tea-table. 

After  that  refreshment  Benny  got  up  arid  took  leave  of 
the  kind  family,  and  set  out  to  walk  back  to  Sydenham. 

He  reached  home  in  such  good  season  as  to  receive  the 
praises  of  his  master. 

The  next  morning,  while  Benny  was  working  in  the  gar- 
den, surrounded  by  the  children,  who  were  diligently  help- 
ing and  hindering  him,  he  began  to  tell  them  of  the  won- 
ders of  the  Heleuic  Gardens — which,  by  the  way,  poor 
Benny  had  never  seen  except  from  the  outside. 


A  R  I  E  L  L  E.  35 

He  further  told  them  that  that  day  was  a  matinee,  when 
the  price  of  admittance  was  so  low  that  almost  everybody 
could  go,  and  that  there  would  be  dancing  and  singing  and 
playing,  and  that  children  could  go  in  for  half  price. 

And  he  so  excited  the  spirits  of  the  children  that  they 
ran  in  with  one  accord  to  besiege  their  parents,  and  beg  to 
be  sent  to  the  Helenic  Gardens. 

"  There  are  four  of  you  fit  to  go,  and  with  Benny  there 
•will  be  five — five  at  sixpence  a  piece  ;  that  will  be  half  a 
crown.  Charley,  dear,  have  you  got  half  a  crown  about  you 
to  give  me  to  send  the  poor  children  to  the  matinee  at  the 
Helenic?  It's  only  a  shilling,  you  know,  and  children 
half  price.  And  Benny  can  go  with  them  and  take  care  of 
them.  They  will  be  quite  safe  with  Benny,"  said  Mrs. 
Faulkner. 

And  while  she  spoke,  her  "Charley  dear"  was  feeling  in 
all  his  pockets,  whence  he  produced  first  a  shilling,  then  a 
sixpence,  then  two  three-penny  bits,  and  lastly  six  pennies. 

"  There  !  I  declare  I  didn't  think  I  had  so  much  money 
about  me.  But  there  you.  are :  half  a  crown  altogether, 
lacking  only  one  penny,"  said  the  Captain,  as  he  good- 
humoredly  emptied  his  pockets  for  the  pleasure  of  the  chil- 
dren. 

"  Oh,  I've  got  two  pence,  so  we're  all  right !  And  now, 
children,  come  and  let  me  get  you  ready,"  said  Molly 
Faulkner,  as  she  carried  off  her  brood. 

"Please,  Charley,  dear,  call  to  Benny  in  the  garden,  and 
tell  him  to  clean  himself  to  go  with  the  children  to  the 
matinee,"  she  added,  as  she  passed  out  of  the  room. 

So  Benny  took  the  children  to  the  Helenic  Gardens,  and 
arrived  early  enough  to  find  them  front  seats,  where  they 
sat  watching  the  curtain  in  eager  anticipation  until  it 
arose. 

There  were  several  performers  who  sang  and  danced  to 
the  great  delight  of  the  children,  as  well  as  to  that  of  the 
simple  crowd  that  collect  there  at  matinees. 


30 


A      NOBLE      LORD. 


But  at  length  Mademoiselle  Arielle  flew  upon  the  stage, 
alighted,  and  was  greeted  with  "  thunders  of  applause,"  in 
which  Benny  and  his  little  companions  heartily  joined. 

Suzy  immediately  recognized  her  little  friend  and  his 
companions,  and  smiled  upon  them  as  she  executed  her 
most  graceful  pirouettes. 

To  say  that  the  children  were  delighted  would  scarcely 
be  doing  justice  to  their  state  of  ecstacy.  They  had  never 
seen  anything  of  the  sort  before,  and  the  exhibition  had  all 
the  charms  of  novelty  added  to  its  other  attractions. 

"  But  Suzy  acts  better  'n  she  dances  though  !  "  said  Ben- 
ny proudly. 

"  Who  acts  ?  "  inquired  little  Mary. 

Benny  flushed. 

He  had  forgotten,  for  a  moment,  that  he  wished  to  con- 
ceal the  identity  between  the  dancer  and  his  little  friend 
Suzy. 

"Who  acts?"  again  impatiently  repeated  little  Mary. 

"Oh!  she — she  as  is  now  dancing.  I  say  she  acts  bet- 
ter 'a  she  dances.  I  seen  her  act  at  the  Thespian,  you 
know,"  explained  Benny. 

"  Oh  ! "  exclaimed  little  Mary,  and  she  looked  with  more 
interest  than  ever  at  the  fairy  dancer  on  the  stage. 

And  Suzy,  or  "  Mademoiselle  Arielle,"  finished  her  dance 
with  a  wonderful  pas,  kissed  her  hand  to  the  children  and 
vanished. 

She  was  applauded  with  enthusiam,  recalled  by  acclama- 
tion, and  danced  and  kissed  her  hand  and  vanished  for  the 
Last  time. 

The  performance  was  over,  and  Benny  took  the  children 
home  clamorous  with  delight  over  all  they  had  heard  and 
seen. 

"The  children  have  been  a  great  deal  happier,  and  not 
half  so  much  trouble,  since  we  have  had  Benny,  Charley, 
dear,"  said  Mrs.  Faulkner. 


POOR  BENNY'S  PURGATORY.     87 

"  Ob  !  I  say !  see  here  now,  Molly,  if  you  mean  to  take 
my  page  for  a  nursery  maid,  I  shall  take  your  pretty  nurs- 
ery maid  for  a  page  !  "  said  the  Captain. 

"  I  dare  you  to  do  it,  Charley.  There  are  some  things  I 
won't  stand,  you  know  ! " 

This  little  skirmish  took  place  between  the  married  pair 
while  Benny  and  the  children  were  at  work  in  the  garden. 

Benny  had  been  very  happy  for  the  whole  month  that  he 
had  lived  at  Woodbine  Cottage,  and  never  more  so  than  on 
this  day ;  but,  ah  !  this  was  destined  to  be  the  poor  outcast's 
last  happy  day ! 


CHAPTER  III. 
POOR  BENNY'S  PURGATORY. 

"One  among  the  million,  fainting  on  the  way. 
Stricken  by  the  heat  and  the  burden  of  the  day; 
Everywhere  a  struggle,  and  the  struggle  all  for  self, 
For  the  wickedness  of  pleasure  or  worthlessness  of  pelf. 
Dense  are  the  crowds,  and  distracting  is  the  strife; 
Alas !  for  the  woefulness  and  wear.ness  of  life!  " 

SOON  after  this  last  happy  clay,  Benny  fell  into  trouble. 
Partly  from  the  goodness  of  his  heart,  and  partly  from  the 
illness  of  his  training,  he  committed  a  grave  fault,  by  which 
lie  lost  the  confidence  of  his  master  and  mistress,  and  the 
companionship  of  his  little  friends. 

It  happened  in  this  way : 

One  morning  Mrs.  Faulkner,  with  the  help  of  her  cook 
and  a  famous  cookery  book,  had  make  a  quantity  of  cur- 
rant jelly  for  winter  use.  After  filling  some  dozen  of  com- 
mon glass  tumblers  with  this  jelly,  and  pasting  up  their 
tops  with  white  paper,  she  put  them  all  out  on  a  deal  table 
in  the  sun  to  "set." 

The  children  were  all  playing  in  the  garden,  where 
Benny  was  at  work. 


38  A      NOBLE      LORD. 

They  had  helped  to  pick  the  currants  the  day  before. 
They  had  seen  something  of  the  process  by  which  the  beau- 
tiful ruby  berries  were  turned  into  still  more  beautiful  ruby 
jelly.  They  had  even  tasted  the  jelly,  and  found  it  good. 

And  now  the  sight  of  so  many  glasses  glowing  in  the 
sunshine,  and  smelling  sweeter  than  all  the  fruits  and 
flowers  together,  was  almost  too  great  a  temptation  for  the 
integrity  of  the  children. 

They  hovered  around  the  table,  and  touched  and  smelled, 
and  longed  to  taste  and  eat. 

Benny  called  them  off  again  and  again,  but  to  little  pur- 
pose, since  again  and  again  they  would  return  to  the  table. 

"  You'll  knock  that  there  over  presently,  mind  you,  Miss 
Lily.  That  'ere  table's  mighty  shaky,  you  see,"  he  said 
warningly,  but  fruitlessly. 

"  Me  only  want  to  look,"  persisted  the  little  willful  one. 

"  Miss  Ada,  'deed  you  mustn't  lift  up  that  big  tumbler ; 
you'll  let  it  fall  presently." 

"  No,  I  won'tj  Benny.     I  only  want  to  smell." 

"  Master  Charley,  sir,  if  you  keep  putting  }rour  tongue  to 
the  edge  of  the  tumbler,  you'll  wet  the  paper  and  make  it 
come  off." 

"You" shut  up!  I  only  want  to  taste  the  jolly,  where  it 
is  leaking  here." 

"'Deed,  Miss  Lily,  dear,  if  you  try  to  climb  up  on  the 
end  of  the  table — " 

CKASH  ! 

Down  came  the  table,  glasses,  jelly  and  all,  cutting  short 
the  expostulations  of  poor  Benny  ! 

The  slight  table  had  tilted  under  the  weight  of  the  will- 
ful children,  who  had  persisted  in  climbing  or  leaning  upon 
it,  and  a  heap  of  spilled  jelly,  mingled  with  broken  glass, 
lay  upon  the  ground. 

The  crash  was  followed  by  a  dead  silence,  as  the  panic- 
stricken  children  stood  gazing  on  the  wreck. 

"We've  done  it  now!"     said  little  Mary,  gravely. 


POOR  BENNY'S  PURGATORY.     39 

"  And  won't  we  catch  it  now,  neither  ?  Oh,  nay  eye  ! " 
exclaimed  Master  Charley. 

Ada  and  Lily  began  to  cry. 

"  There,  now,  don't  tune  up  your  little  pipes  for  nothink! 
Crying  never  does  no  good.  So  what's  the  use  o'  crying  ? 
Besides,  what  could  you  expect  of  tumblers  but  to  tumble 
down  ?  Didn't  the  tumblers  at  the  Helenic  Gardens  tum- 
ble ?  And  they  was  people.  And  if  them  flesh  and  blood 
tumblers  tumbled,  and  got  praised  and  paid  for  it  too,  what 
can  you  expect  of  these  poor  insensible  glass  tumblers  ?  " 
said  Benny,  by  way  of  cheering  up  the  fallen  spirits  of  the 
children. 

"  0  Benny !  don't  tell  on  us,  please  ! "  pleaded  Ada. 
And  Lily  and  Charley  chimed  in  and  added  their  petitions 
to- hers. 

Mary  said  nothing,  but  looked  gravely  on. 

"Don't  tell  on  us,  Benny!  Don't  tell  on  us  !"  pleaded 
the  other  three  children. 

"  Who  tell  ?  ME  ?  Why,  I  never  split  on  a  pal  in  my 
life!  I'd  die  first.  And  I've  had  rich  chances!  Why, 
lawk !  there  were  Sneaking  Sam,  and  a  'ward  o'  fifty 
pound  offered  for  him.  And  1  knowed  where  he  were  all 
the  time.  And  me  and  Rosy  and  granny  all  but  starved 
to  death  that  time.  And  I  never  spilt  on  him.  'Cause 
why  ?  It  would  a  been  mean.  And  besides,  if  he'd  been 
lagged,  they'd  a  made  him  a  lifer,"  said  Benny  heroically. 

The  children  stared  at  him  in  utter  astonishment.  They 
comprehended  not  one  word  of  what  he  said.  At  length 
Charley  spoke : 

"  I  don't  know  what  you're  talking  about,  Benny.  But 
I  want  to  know  one  thing — you  won't  tell  on  us  ?  " 

"  No  !  "  said  Benny,  "  I  won't !  And  now  all  on  you  cut 
and  run,  and  leave  me  to  face  this  here  music  ! " 

"  The  children  all  gladly  ran  away  from  the  scene  of  the 
disaster,  and  left  Benny  on  the  spot. 


40  A      NOBLE     LORD. 

He  stood  for  a  moment  reflecting  how  lie  could  best  cover 
the  children's  fault.  He  had  some  little  instinctive  mis- 
givings as  to  the  right  of  deceiving  his  kind  mistress,  but 
then  he  would  deceive  her  only  to  protect  her  own  children 
from  punishment,  and  so  he  dismissed  these  misgivings  as 
so  many  weaknesses. 

"  I'm  sorry  for  missus  a  losing  of  all  her  jelly,  arter 
taking  sich  a  deal  o'  pains  to  make  it !  But  splitting  on 
the  kids  won't  do  her  no  good,  and  punishing  o'  them  won't 
fetch  back  the  jelly  !  So,  blowed  if  /  split !  " 

"With  this  resolution  Benny  wandered  away  from  the 
spot,  and  resumed  his  work  of  weeding  out  the  flower- 
beds. 

It  was  not  until  sunset  that  the  misfortune  was  discovered. 

Then  the  cook  went  out  to  bring  the  glasses  in,  and  see- 
ing the  catastrophe,  ran  back  into  the  house,  calling  to  her 
mistress. 

"  0  ma'am !  ma'am !  what  a  dreadful  thing  has  hap- 
pened ! " 

"  Heaven  have  mercy  upon  us !  Which  of  the  children 
is  it?"  exclaimed  the  terrified  mother,  naturally  supposing 
that  one  of  her  little  ones  had  been  tossed  by  a  bull  or 
bitten  by  a  dog. 

"  I  don't  know  which  on  'em  it  were,  ma'am ;  but  every 
bit  o'  the  jelly  is  ruined  ! "  answered  the  cook,  speaking  at 
cross  purposes. 

"  The  jelly  !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Faulkner,  puzzled. 

"  Yes,  ma'am ;  the  jelly !  which  them  little  plagues  of 
my  life  have  knocked  over  the  table,  and  broke  every  one 
of  the  glasses.  I  say  it,  and  I  stand  to  it,  ma'am,  begging 
your  pardon,  as  children  is  the  devil !"  exclaimed  the  cook. 

"  For  goodness'  sake,  let  me  come  and  see  what's  the 
matter  ! "  said  Molly. 

"Come  then,  ma'am,  and  see  for  yourself!  And  then,  if 
you  don't  think  as  them  ere  little  ones  deserves  a  good 


POOR  BENNY'S  PURGATORY.     41 

switching,  Til  give  up,"  said  the  cook,  leading  the  way  to 
the  scene  of  the  catastrophe. 

Molly  gazed  on  her  lost  treasures,  and  could  have  cried. 

"Where  are  the  children  ?"  she  inquired. 

"Oh,  away  down  in  the  bottom  of  the  garden,  ma'am, 
like  little  thieves  as  have  set  fire  to  a  barn  and  run  away 
by  the  light  of  it!" 

"Where  is  Benny?" 

"  There  he  is,  ma'am,  a  weeding  out  the  flower  beds. 
But  lor'  ma'am,  he  never  did  the  likes  o'  that !  A  more 
steadier  or  a  more  carefuller  lad  don't  live,  ma'am." 

"  Oh,  I  know  it  wasn't  Benny  !  But  he  may  know  some- 
thing about  it.  Call  him  here,  cook.  And  call  the  chil- 
dren." 

"  What's  the  row  ?  "  inquired  Captain  Faulkner,  walking 
up  as  the  cook  walked  off. 

"  Oh,  Charley,  dear,  look  there !  About  three  pounds' 
worth  of  red  currant  jelly  utterly  destroyed !  And  we 
haven't  any  more  currants  on  the  bushes,  and  no  more 
sugar  until  the  children's  fairy  grandmother  sends  the  next 
month's  supply!  And,  oh,  Charley,  dear,  it  was  for  your 
sake  I  made  it !  I  know  you  are  so  fond  of  game,  and 
game  is  nothing  without  currant  jelly  !  " 

"And  who  the  devil  did  this  mischief,  then?"  inquired 
the  Captain,  waking  up  to  a  realization  of  the  misfortune. 

"  Of  course,  the  children.  There  was  no  one  else  in  the 
garden,  except  Benny,  and  he  would  never  have  done  it." 

"  Molly,  these  children  want  to  be  taken  in  hand.  Upon 
my  word  and  honor,  they  are  growing  up  as  wild  as  un- 
broken colts.  Where  are  they  ?  " 

"  They  are  coming  now.  And  here  is  Benny,"  said  Mrs. 
"Faulkner,  as  the  boy  advanced,  followed  by  the  four  terrified 
children. 

It  was  ridiculous  and  it  was  pitiable,  the  contrast  between 
the  abject  terror  of  the  children  and  its  cause — the  destruo 


42  ANOBLELORD. 

tion  of  a  few  dozen  glasses  of  jelly.  But  then  the  poor 
children  possessed  a  papa  who  doted  on  his  stomach  and  a 
mam ru a  who  doted  on  him. 

"  Benjamin,  come  here!  Do  you  know  anything  about 
this  ?  "  inquired  Molly. 

"  Yes,  missus,"  answered  Benny  promptly. 

"Who  did  it?" 

"  Please,  missus,  Farmer  Greenfield's  black  bull." 

"  What  ?  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Faulkner. 

"How  is  that?"  inquired  Captain  Faulkner. 

"Tell  me  all  about  it,  Benjamin,"  said  Mrs.  Faulkner. 

"  Please,  missus,  Farmer  Greenfield's  black  bull  do  be  in 
Farmer  Greenfield's  meadow,  behint  the  garding.  And  the 
bull,  he  lep  over  the  hedge  and  came  a  rampaging  through 
the  garding,  and  he  run  over  the  table,  so  he  did,  and  upsot 
all  the  jelly  afore  I  could  stop  him." 

"Good  gracious  !  Why  didn't  you  come  to  the  house  and 
tell  me  at  once  ?  "  inquired  Molly. 

"Please,  missus,  I  druv  him  out  fust,  and  then  I  did  just 
turn  'round  to  come  and  tell  you  when  cook  called  me,  so 
she  did." 

"  Charley,  you  must  really  complain  of  that  bull.  I  can't 
have  him  jumping  over  the  hedge  and  destroying  everything 
in  our  garden.  And,  good  gracious !  he  might  toss  or  gore 
one  of  the  children  some  of  these  days,  and  then  there !  I 
always  was  afraid  of  him  ever  since  he  was  put  in  that  pad- 
dock, and  often  and  often  have  I  warned  Benny  against 
him,"  said  Mrs.  Faulkner  earnestly. 

Captain  Faulkner  laughed  a  heartless,  sardonic,  wicked 
laugh.  And  then  his  face  grew  still  and  stern,  and  he 
said : 

"  Molly,  don't  you  see  that  that  infernal  little  rascal  is 
lying  as  fast  as  a  horse  can  trot  ?  The  idea  of  Farmer 
Greenfield's  black  bull  jumping  over  a  hedge  of  six  feet 
high  to  get  into  our  garden  !  Preposterous !  Look  here, 


POOR  BENNY'S  PURGATORY.     43 

you  lying  little  villain  !  The  next  time  you  undertake  to 
lie,  just  be  sure  that  you  know  what  you  are  talking  about. 
A  bull  couldn't  leap  over  a  six-foot  hedge  !  It  would  be  im- 
possible. And  now,  do  you  see,  your  extravagant  invention 
has  betrayed  j'ou !  It  was  you  yourself  who  knocked  over 
the  table,  and  destroyed  all  this  valuable  jelly.  Confess  at 
once,  sir,  if  you  would  escape  a  worse  punishment  than  that 
I  mean  to  give  you  !  " 

"  I  didn't  never  turn  no  table  over,  master ;  nor  no  more 
did  I  break  the  tumblers,  nor  spill  the  jelly,"  said  Benny 
firmly. 

"  How  dare  you  to  tell  me  such  a  lie  as  that?  Don't  you 
know  that  it  is  mean,  wicked,  abominable  to  lie  ?  "  demand- 
ed the  Captain,  totally  oblivious  of  the  fact  that  he  him- 
self had  taught  the  boy  to  do  so. 

"I'm  telling  on  you  no  lie,  sir,  this  time;  for  I  didn't 
never  knock  over  the  table  and  spoil  the  jelly,"  persisted  the 
boy. 

At  this  moment  the  conscious  faces  of  the  children  caught 
the  eyes  of  the  Captain. 

"  You  were  with  him  in  the  garden  most  of  the  time. 
You  may  know  all  about  this  thing.  Say,  Charley,  do  you 
know  who  knocked  over  that  table?" 

"  The  black  bull  did  it ! "  answered  Master  Charley, 
bold!}7  endorsing  the  statement  of  Benny. 

"  How  dare  you  utter  such  a  falsehood,  sir  ?  You  !  the 
son  of  a  gentleman,  to  tell  a  lie !  Shame  on  you,  sir! " 

"  Oh,  Charley  !  Charley !  how  could  you  tell  a  story  ?  " 
added  his  mother. 

"  Go  to  the  house,  sir,  and  stay  there  till  I  come.  I'll 
cane  you  well  for  this,"  said  the  Captain. 

And  the  boy,  crestfallen,  crept  awa}r. 

"Now,  then,  you  little  ones;  you  will  tell  the  truth. 
WHO  DID  IT  ?  "  demanded  the  Captain. 

'•The  blat  bull  did  it,"  answered  Ada. 


44  A      NOBLE      LORD. 

11  De  bat  bud  did  it,"  added  Lily. 

"There  now,  you  see,  Charley,  dear,  yon  have  been  un- 
just. The  black  bull  must  have  done  it!"  exclaimed  Mrs. 
Faulkner. 

"  My  dear  Molly,  how  absurd  !  It  is  just  simply  impos- 
sible !  No  black  bull,  or  any  other  sort  of  bull,  could  possi- 
bly have  leaped  over  a  six-foot  hedge  to  have  done  this  dam- 
age. This  boy  here  did  it.  There  is  no  doubt  whatever 
about  that.  And  he  has  so  corrupted  our  children  that  lie 
lias  induced  them  to  join  him  in  telling  this  lie.  Look  at 
Mary,  there.  She  has  said  nothing  as  yet.  Now  I  will 
question  her,  and  I  will  guarantee  that  we  hear  the  truth. 
Mary,  who  knocked  over  the  table  and  destroyed  the 
jelly  ?  " 

"We  did,  papa,"  answered  Mary,  hanging  her  head. 

"Who?  You?"  inquired  the  Captain,  puzzled  by  her 
answer. 

"  Yes,  papa,  we  did :  I  and  Charley  and  Ada  and  Lily. 
We  got  upon  the  edge  of  the  table  to  lick  the  jelly  where  it 
leaked.  And  we  were  all  at  one  end,  and  so  we  pulled  it 
over,  papa,"  answered  Mary,  weeping. 

"That  is  right,  my  little  daughter;  always  tell  the  truth. 
There,  don't  cry  any  more.  You  sha'n't  be  punished,"  said 
the  father,  patting  her  head. 

Then  turning  to  Benny,  he  sternly  demanded  : 

"  And  now,  sir,  what  about  the  black  bull  ?  " 

The  boy  turned  his  eyes  on  little  Mary,  and  kept  silence. 
By  the  rules  of  his  thieves'  code  of  honor,  the  only  one  he 
had  ever  learned,  he  was  condemning  little  Mary  for  "  split- 
ting" on  a  faithful  "pal,"  and  he  felt  himself  betrayed 
and  deserted. 

"  How  about  that  black  bull  of  Farmer  Greenfield's, 
sir  ?  "  fiercely  repeated  the  Captain. 

"It  were  a  Irish  bull  o'  my  own,  sir,  I'm  thinking,"  an- 
swered the  boy,  with  a  faint  smile. 


POOH  BENNY'S  PURGATORY.     45 

"  None  o'  your  insolence,  sir.  How  dare  you  !  Sir,  you 
have  lied  to  me  !  And  by  your  example,  sir,  you  have 
taught  my  children  to  lie.  Charley,  Ada  and  little  Lily 
have  all  repeated  the  falsehood  you  put  in  their  mouths — " 

"  I  told  the  story  to  keep  'em  from  being  punished,  please, 
sir;  I  didn't  know  as  there  was  any  harm  in  it,  please,  sir. 
And  I  didn't  tell  'em  to  jiue  me  in  it,  please,  sir,"  said  poor 
Benny,  standing  alone,  pleading  his  cause  as  well  as  he 
could. 

But  he  left  out  the  best  argument  he  could  have  used  in 
his  defence.  If  he  had  only  thought  to  say  to  his  virtuous 
and  indignant  master  : 

"You  also  taught  me  to  lie,  sir,  and  rewarded  me  when  I 
did  it  well." 

But  Benny  did  not  once  think  of  calling  his  master's 
consistency  in  question.  Pie  had  made  the  best  defence  that 
he  could,  and  now  he  stood  patiently  waiting  his  doom. 

"You  thought  there  was  no  harm  in  it!"  exclaimed  the 
Captain,  taking  up  the  line  of  prosecution  again.  "  You 
thought  there  was  no  harm  in  lying,  and  in  teaching  my 
innocent  children  to  lie  !  for,  by  your  example,  which  they 
imitated,  you  did  teach  them.  Sir,  I  do  not  know  anything 
so  base,  so  cowardly,  so  infamous  as  falsehood,  except  per- 
haps theft,  which  is  as  bad,  but  no  worse.  And  those  who 
lie  will  certainly  steal — " 

"  Please,  sir—" 

"  Be  silent,  sir  !  I  know  of  no  punishment  that  I  could 
inflict  upon  you  too  severe  for  your  fault — "  continued  the 
Captain. 

But  just  at  this  point  little  Ada  and  Lily  began  to  cry. 

"  Please,  sir — "  again  began  Benny. 

"  Hold  your  tongue  !  "  thundered  the  Captain.  "  And  go 
instantly  to  the  house,  and  up  into  the  loft  where  you  sleep, 
and  wait  there  till  I  come.  Then  I'll  decide  what  to  do  with 
you." 


46  A      NOBLE     LORD. 

"  Please,  sir,  let  me  speak  just  0710  word.  Please,  sir,  take 
it  out  on  me  like  blazes  ;  but  please,  sir,  don't  take  it  out  on 
poor  little  Miss  Ada  and  Miss  Lily  !  Please,  master,  they's 
such  little  things,  they  don't  know  notliink  !  "  pleaded  Benny 
for  the  weeping  children. 

"How  dare  you  dictate  to  me  about  my  children,  you 
wretched  young  work-house  vagrant !  Be  off  with  yourself. 
And  see  here ;  this  association  between  you  and  these  chil- 
dren must  be  stopped,  sir  !  And  now  listen  !  if  ever  I  catch 
you  speaking  so  much  as  one  word  to  one  of  these  children 
again,  I  will  take  you  and  cane  you  within  one  inch  of  your 

life.  I'll  break  every  bone  in  your  body.  I  will,  by ! 

Begone  ! " 

As  soon  as  the  poor  bound  boy  had  left  the  spot,  the  noble 
Captain  turned  to  his  progeny. 

"You  see,  my  dears,"  he  began,  "  the  disgrace  that  follows 
falsehood.  And  falsehood,  let  me  tell  you,  is  much  more 
reprehensible  in  little  ladies  and  gentlemen  than  in  persons 
of  that  boy's  order.  Well,  what  the  blazes  do  you  want  ?  " 
He  broke  off  to  speak  to  the  cook,  who  came  down  the 
garden  walk. 

"  Only  this,  sir,"  said  the  latter,  "  there's  that  man  with 
the  livery  stable  bill  again  wants  to  see  you." 

"  Tell  him  I'm  not  at  borne.  Tell  him  I've  gone  to  town," 
said  the  Captain  impatiently. 

"  The  woman  might  have  had  the  sense  to  have  said  that 
without  coming  to  bother  me.  Benny  would  have  had  ! 
But  then  he  is  in  disgrace  now,  so  it's  no  use  talking  of 
him,"  growled  the  Captain. 

"  And  now,  my  children,"  he  continued,  taking  up  his 
lecture,  "bear  this  in  mind;  always,  in  future,  to  shun 
falsehood  and  speak  the  truth.  You  have  all  offended  in 
that  respect  except  Mary.  Mary,  my  dear,  I  commend  you 
for  your  courage  and  truthfulness.  Charley,  Ada  and  Lily, 
I  am  sorry  I  cannot  commend  you  for  the  same  qualities. 


BENNY'S    BURDEN.  47 

Ada  and  Lily  are  but  babies,  and  could  not  be  supposed  to 
know  better  than  to  do  as  tbey  did — though  they  must  never 
do  it  again.  But  you,  Charley,  my  son,  I  am  deeply  pained 
by  your  conduct.  However,  I  see  that  you  yourself  are 
thoroughly  ashamed  of  it,  so  I  will  trust  you  will  never  re- 
peat it.  And  I  will  say  no  more  than  this  :  you  must  bear 
in  mind  that  you  are  a  gentleman,  and  a  gentleman  never 
lies  !  And  now  let  us  go  in  to  tea." 


CHAPTER  IV. 


BENNY S  BURDEN  TOO  HEAVY  TO  BE  BORNE. 

And  he  -was  bound  a  helpless  slave, 
With  no  one  near  to  love,  to  save, 

In  all  the  world  of  men. 
A  triendless,  famished,  work-house  child, 
Morn,  noon  and  night  he  toiled  and  toiled. 

Yet  he  was  happy  then. 
But  weeks  and  months  had  passed  away, 
And  all  too  soon  the  bitter  day 

Of  wrath  and  ruin  burst. 
The  children  feared  him  for  his  fate, 
And  mistress'  scorn  and  master's  hate 

Him,  their  poor  servant,  curst. — TUPPEB. 

BENNY  went  away  to  his  loft  and  sat  there  alone.  He 
was  quite  unconscious  of  having  done  any  wrong,  but  bitter- 
ly conscious  of  having  suffered  injustice •;  for  now  he  remem- 
bered what  he  had  before  forgotten — namely,  that  his  master 
himself  had  often  ordered  him  to  tell  .a  falsehood  at  the 
street  door  to  any  unwelcome  visitor,  and  had  praised  him 
when  he  had  told  it  well. 

"  To  think  as  he'd  order  me  to  tell  bouncing  whoppers 
over  and  over  ag'in,  to  keep  a  great  big  man  like  he  from 
being  ill-conwenienced  with  bills,  and  then  come  down  on 
me  only  just  for  telling  a  little  story  to  keep  the  little  bits  of 
children  from  being  punished  !  I  say  it's  blamed  hard,  I 
do  !  And  a  cove  don't  know  what  to  make  of  it,"  said 


48  ANOBLELORD. 

Benny  to  himself,  as  he  brushed  the  indignant  tears  from  his 
eyes,  and  waited  for  the  coming  of  his  master. 

It  was  not  the  threatened  punishment  he  dreaded.  He 
was  no  coward,  and  besides,  he  was  inured  to  pain ;  but  to 
be  banned  from  the  society  of  the  children  he  had  loved  and 
lied  for  and  suffered  for,  seemed  very  bitter  to  the  lonely 
boy. 

He  did  not  dread  any  other  puuishment,  and  indeed  he 
had  no  occasion  to  do  so. 

The  auger  of  his  master  was  very  short-lived.  And  the 
good-huniored,  unprincipled  Captain  had  no  more  intention 
of  keeping  his  word  and  beating  his  boy,  than  he  had  of 
performing  his  promises  and  pa37ing  his  debts. 

After  a  while  Benny  was  ealled  down  stairs  to  wait  on  the 
supper  table. 

His  master  and  mistress  were  at  the  table,  but  the  chil- 
dren had  gone  to  bed.  He  waited  on  them  in  silence,  for 
they  never  spoke  to  him.  He  was  glad,  poor  boy,  when  his 
duties  were  done,  and  he  was  at  liberty  to  return  to  his  lonely 
loft. 

He  got  up  early  the  next  morning,  to  try  to  recover,  by 
zeal  and  diligence  in  his  work,  the  lost  favor  of  the  family  ; 
for  his  young  heart  was  aching  in  solitude,  and  longing  for 
sympathy. 

He  waited  on  the  table  at  breakfast.  The  children,  as 
usual,  ate  this  meal  with  their  father  and  mother.  But 
again  the  bound  boy  had  to  serve  in  silence.  Neither  master 
nor  mistress  spoke  to  him,  except  to  give  a  brief  order. 
And  the  children  seemed  afraid  to  look  at  him.  Benny's 
heart  was  so  oppressed  by  this  silence  and  coldness  that  he 
felt  as  if  he  should  suffocate,  or  as  if  he  must  speak  and  be 
spoken  to,  or  die. 

Remember  that  he  was  the  son  of  Willie  Douglas  and 
Eglantine  Seton,  and  derived  a  delicate  and  sensitive  organ- 
ization from  both  parents. 


BENNY'S    BURDEN.  49 

He  could  bear  very  much  ;  he  could  bear  and  had  borne 
hunger,  cold  and  pain ;  but  he  could  not  bear  to  be  shut  out 
from  sympathy  with  his  kind. 

Benny  took  up  a  plate  of  muffins  for  an  excuse  to  speak, 
and  he  offered  them  to  one  of  the  children,  saying: 

"  Won't  you  have  a  muffin,  Miss  Ada  ?  " 

He  had  better  kept  silence.  Even  kind-hearted  Molly 
looked  up,  and  said  coldly  : 

"I  don't  want  you  to  speak  to  the  children,  Benjamin.  I 
am  very  angry  with  you  for  teaching  them  to  tell  stories. 
And  they  have  our  commands  not  to  have  anything  to  say 
to  yon." 

"Yes,  sir,"  added  the  Captain  sternly,  "and  you  have 
had  orders  not  to  address  one  of  them  again.  How  dare 
you  do  it,  sir  ?  Leave  the  room  this  moment,  sir  !  " 

Benny  went  out,  his  heart  almost  bursting  with  grief  and 
indignation. 

The  cook  in  silence  gave  him  his  breakfast,  but  the  food 
seemed  to  choke  him. 

To  wash  the  dishes  and  rub  the  knives  formed  part  of  his 
daily  duties.  He  accomplished  this  task,  and  then  went  out 
to  weed  the  garden. 

The  children  were  there  as  usual,  and  his  own  boyish 
heart  yearned  toward  them  ;  but  they  walked  apart,  and  he 
did  not  dare  to  approach  them. 

Like  Cain,  he  was  banished,  and  like  Cain,  he  felt  his 
burden  too  great  to  be  borne. 

This  exclusion  continued  for  days  and  weeks.  And  every 
day  he  felt  his  isolation  more  and  more  oppressive. 

The  autumn  came,  and  Captain  Faulkner  had  a  visitor 
staying  with  him  at  Woodbine  Cottage.  This  was  a  visitor 
whom  Molly  did  not  like  at  all,  but  whom  she  tolerated  for 
"  dear  Charley's  sake."  This  was  a  certain  Colonel  Brierly, 
late  of  her  Majesty's  service,  now  retired  upon  half  pay. 
This  Colonel  was  a  childless  widower,  who  lived  in  London 
3 


O(J  A      N  O  B  L  E      L  O  R  D. 

lodgings  whenever  he  did  not  get  an  invitation  to  some  good 
country  house.  He  was  a  great  epicurean,  an  amateur  cook 
with  specialties  in  salads,  soups,  and  punches  aud  "  cups." 
It  was  not  easy  to  keep  him  out  of  the  kitchen  ;  and  more 
than  on-e  cook,  in  houses  where  he  visited,  had  given  warn- 
ing on  his  account ;  more  than  one  kitchen  maid  had  slyly 
pinned  a  dish  towel  to  his  coat  tails. 

But  nothing  could  break  the  Colonel  of  putting  his  finger 
in  the  family  pie,  or  helping  to  improve  "  the  broth  ;  "  for,  to 
do  him  justice,  he  never  spoiled  it. 

He  was  addicted  to  telling  the  most  marvellous  stories  of 
his  campaigns  and  adventures  in  India.  By  his  own  account, 
no  living  man  had  ever  fought  so  many  duels,  hunted  so 
many  tigers,  or  broken  so  many  ladies'  hearts,  as  the  in- 
vincible Colonel.  In  person,  however,  lie  was  certainly  no 
Apollo,  but  a  tall,  thin,  hard-featured,  red-faced,  grey-headed 
old  gentleman,  with  a  rough  voice,  which  he  was  much  given 
to  exercise  in  very  objectionable  language,  especially  while 
emphasizing  some  of  his  incredible  stories. 

This  last-mentioned  habit  Molly  Faulkner  could  not  tol- 
erate in  their  visitor,  and  so  she  often  arose  and  withdrew 
from  the  dinner  table  where  they  would  be  sitting,  long 
before  it  was  time  for  her  to  leave  the  gentlemen  to  their 
wine.  On  such  occasions  even  Charley  Faulkner  would  be 
half  inclined  to  call  his  guest  out. 

But  if  the  brave  and  gallant  Colonel  was  somewhat  ob- 
jectionable in  the  dining-room,  he  was  ten  times  more  so  in 
the  kitchen — to  every  one  except  Captain  Faulkner,  who 
liked  the  guest  all  the  better  for  his  cooking  proclivities. 

The  cook  not  only  gave  warning,  but  actually  left  tlio 
house,  declaring  that  she  would  not  stay  in  any  place  where 
the  gentlemen  demeaned  themselves  down  to  the  level  of 
sauce-pans  and  gridirons,  and  gave  her  so  much  extra  work, 
cleaning  up  after  them  in  the  morning. 

And  then  they  had  to  got  a  char-woman  to  come  in  every 


BENNY'  s    n  u  K  D  E  N.  51 

day,  to  fill  her  place  until  they  could  provide  themselves 
with  another  cook.  But  the  char-woman  went  away  every 
day  directly  after  dinner. 

It  therefore  fell  to  Benny's  lot  to  help  to  get  the  next 
meal. 

Colonel  Brierly  and  Captain  Faulkner  seemed  to  like  this 
arrangement  very  much.  They  now  had  the  kitchen. all  to 
themselves,  with  Benny  to  do  their  will. 

Every  afternoon,  after  their  early  tea,  Molly  Faulkner 
would  take  her  children  and  go  up  stairs  in  disgust. 

The  Colonel  and  the  Captain  would  smoke  in  the  garden 
until  it  was  time  for  them  to  think  about  supper. 

Then  they  would  call  Benny  and  betake  themselves  to 
the  kitchen,  where  the  Colonel  would  throw  off  his  coat, 
turn  up  his  wristbands,  and  go  in  to  the  compounding  of 
some  rare  salad,  soup,  or  something  of  the  sort. 

Benny  was  their  most  obedient  slave,  and  did  their  will 
submissively  until  one  fatal  evening. 

On  that  evening  the  Colonel  had  procured  a  terrapin, 
which  he  was  going  to  cook  after  a  famous  receipt. 

The  fire  was  made  in  the  kitchen  range,  and  a  pot  of 
water  was  boiling. 

"Take  the  terrapin  out  of  the  tub  and  bring  him  here, 
boy,"  said  the  Colonel. 

Benny  was  half  afraid  to  touch  the  ugly  beast,  whose 
long,  snake-like  head  and  neck  were  protruded  from  his 
shell,  and  reaching  around  as  if  in  search  of  something  to 
snap  up  ;  but  nevertheless  the  boy  conquered  his  fear,  and 
took  the  creature  up  in  his  hands  and  carried  him  to  the 
Colonel. 

"Please,  sir,  here  he  is,"  said  Benny. 
"All    right;    now   drop   him    into   that   pot   of    boiling 
water,"  said  the  Colonel. 
Benny  stood  still  and  stared. 

"  Well,  why  the  deuce  don't  you  do  it  ?  "  demanded  the 
Colonel. 


f>2  A      N  O  B  L  E      L  O  R  D. 

"Please,  sir,  he's  alive  ! "  said  Beuny. 

"Of  course  he's  alive,  you  idiot!  He  wouldn't  be  fit  to 
cook  if  he  wasn't  alive.  Drop  him  in  the  boiling  water  at 
once ! " 

Obediently  Benny  approached  the  boiling  water,  and 
held  the  struggling  creature  over  its  hot  steam  for  an 
instant,  and  then,  shuddering,  drew  back. 

"  Why  the  blazes  don't  you  drop  him  in  ?  Are  you 
quite  a  fool  ?  "  demanded  the  Colonel. 

"  0  sir !  please,  sir,  don't  make  me  do  it !  It  is  boiling 
so  hard !  It  will  scald  him  to  death  !  Oh,  please,  sir,  kill 
him  easy  before  you  drop  him  in  !  "  pleaded  the  boy. 

"  You  infernal  little  son  of  a  gutter,  if  you  don't  do  what 
I  order  you  in  one  second,  I'm  blasted  if  I  don't  take  and 
chuck  the  terrapin  into  the  pot  and  you  after  it! "  exclaim- 
ed the  Colonel  in  a  voice  of  thunder,  as  he  sprang  toward 
the  boy. 

With  a  start  of  terror,  Benny  inadvertently  let  the  terra- 
pin fall  into  the  boiling  water  so  suddenl}',  that  the  water 
splashed  up  into  his  own  face  and  scalded  him. 

And  then  he  burst  into  tears,  not  from  the  pain  of  his 
burns,  but  from  pity  and  horror. 

That  mode  of  putting  a  living  creature  to  death  may  be 
necessary  and  proper,  for  aught  I  know,  but  little  Benny, 
outcast  as  he  might  be,  was  no  more  fit  for  the  cruel  work 
than  was  either  of  his  dainty  little  sisters  and  brothers  at 
Cheviot  Plouse. 

"  I  say  Faulkner,"  began  the  Colonel,  with  half  a  dozen 
abominable  expletives,  "  this  fellow  of  yours  wants  the  dis- 
cipline of  your  horsewhip.  Why  don't  you  give  it  to 
him  ?  " 

"I  know  he  wants  thrashing,  Brierly ;  and  I  don't  know 
why  I  don't  thrash  him.  And,  indeed,  I  don't  know  why  I 
don't  send  him  about  his  business.  He's  an  awful  little 
liar,  for  one  thing,"  answered  the  Captain. 


BENNY'S    BURDEN.  53 

"  He  is,  is  he  ?  I'd  like  to  have  the  training  of  him  for 
a  little  while.  S'pose  you  let  me  have  him  up  to  Lon- 
don ?  " 

"  Perhaps  I  will.     I'll  see/'  answered  Captain  Faulkner. 

And  then,  as  the  dressing  of  the  terrapin  demanded  all 
their  attention,  they  left  the  subject  of  Benny  and  devoted 
their  minds  to  cookery. 

That  night  Benny,  lying  alone  in  his  loft,  thought  over 
all  the  loneliness  and  misery  of  his  position,  and  felt  a 
longing  to  return  to  his  old  companions  in  Junk  Lane. 
Beggars  and  thieves  and  worse  they  were,  but  they  had 
never  been  cruel  or  unkind  to  him. 

He  could  bear  anything  better  than  this  loneliness.  His 
heart  felt  breaking  in  his  solitude. 

He  took  a  sudden  resolution.  He  would  run  away  and 
go  to  London,  to  his  old  friends  the  beggars  and  thieves, 
who  would  hide  him  away  from  cruel  Captain  Faulkner  and 
horrible  Colonel  Brierly. 

He  would  never  see  the  pretty,  friendly  children  again, 
and  the  thought  gave  him  pain,  until  he  said  to  himself  that 
that  would  not  be  worse  than  to  see  them  every  day  and 
not  to  be  allowed  to  speak  to  them. 

So  Benny  got  up  and  dressed  himself  very  quietly,  and 
went  down  stairs  from  his  loft  to  the  scullery  below  it. 
There  was  no  one  to  hinder  him.  He  unbolted  and  un- 
barred the  door,  and  opened  it  and  went  out. 

It  was  a  dark  and  drizzling  night  in  November;  but  he 
did  not  mind  the  weather;  it  rather  favored  his  flight. 

He  passed  around  to  the  front  of  the  house,  and  down  the 
front  garden  walk,  and  through  the  gate,  and  out  into  the 
lane. 

The  lane  was  ver}7  dark,  but  it  was  narrow  and  straight, 
so  that  he  could  not  miss  his  way. 

The  lane  led  to  the  high  road,  where  there  were  gas  lamps 
and  sidewalks. 


54  ANOBLELORD. 

Benny  hurried  along  as  fast  as  he  could  walk,  until  he 
suddenly  stopped  short  in  great  surprise  and  delight. 

A  man  was  leaning  against  a  lamp-post. 

The  man  turned  around,  and  Benny  recognized  his  step- 
father, Tony  Brice. 


CHAPTER  V. 

THE    BURGLARY. 

Shadows  there  are,  who  dwell 

Among  us,  yet  apart, 
Deaf  to  the  claim  of  God. 

Or  any  ki  ndly  heart. 
Voices  of  earth  and  heaven 

Call,  but  they  turn  away; 
And  Love,  through  such  black  night, 

Can  Bee  no  hope  of  day. — A.  A.  PEOCTOR. 

YES,  it  was  Tony  Brice !  big,  bull-necked,  bullet-headed, 
red-haired  Tony  Brice  ;  but  oh,  so  altered — so  aged,  haggard, 
ragged  and  wretched  ! 

Benny  could  scarcely  recognize  him. 

They  stared  at  each  other  for  a  moment  in  doubt,  and  then 
both  at  once  spoke  : 

"  Why,  daddy  !  "  cried  Benny. 

"  Why,  Beany,  my  man  !  "  cried  Tony. 

"  Oh,  daddy,  I'm  so  glad  to  see  you ! "  said  the  lonely  lad, 
bursting  into  tears. 

"  So  am  I  you,  Benny,  my  brave  bo}' !  "  said  the  wretched 
man. 

"  They  told  me  as  how  you  had  runned  away  to  forring 
parts,  never  to  come  back  no  more  ! "  wept  Benny. 

"  They  told  you  a  lot  o'  lies,  then,  'cause  you  see  I  have 
come  back.  And  what's  more,  they  told  me  a  lot  o'  lies  also. 
They  told  me  as  you'd  died  in  the  'ospital.  And  here  you 
are  !  "  growled  Tony. 

"  Well,  they  thought  I  died.     I  'most  did  die.     And  the 


T  H  E      B  U  U  G  L  A  R  Y.  55 

undertakers  was  going  to  nail  me  down  in  the  coffing;  but  I 
was  too  game  to  stand  that,  daddy  ! "  exclaimed  Benny, 
suddenly  drying  his  tears  and  laughing. 

"Eh  ?  too  game  for  what  ?  "  inquired  Tony. 

"  Too  game  to  let  them  nail  me  down  in  the  coffing,  when 
they  thought  I  was  dead.  Oh,  you  don't  know  how  game  I 
was,  daddy  !  Just  as  they  was  going  to  hammer  away.  I 
come  to,  and  lept  up,  and  guv  'em  a  black  eye  apiece,  I 
did  ! "  said  Benny,  repeating  another  version  of  the  exag- 
gerated stories  that,  half  in  jest  and  half  in  earnest,  had 
been  circulated  about  his  sudden  resuscitation  in  the  dead- 
house. 

"Well,  I  swow  !     Benn}r,  that's  a  bouncer!  "  said  Tony. 

"No  ;t  an't.  You  go  ask  the  misses  in  the  'ospital,"  re- 
plied the  boy,  who  fully  believed  the  stories  that  had  been 
told  him. 

His  faith  convinced  Tony,  who  exclaimed  : 

"  Well,  dash  me,  but  that's  the  queerest  go  as  ever  I  hear 
in  all  my  days  !  And  they  told  me  in  Junk  Lane  as  you'd 
died  in  the  'ospital.  You  didn't  go  back  to  Junk  Lane, 
Benny  ?  " 

"No,  daddy.  'Cause  why?  They  sent  me  from  the 
'ospital  to  the  work'us.  And  from  the  work'us  they  binded 
of  me  out  for  a  gentleman's  servant." 

"  Blow  their  imperance  !  To  bind  a  man's  only  son  out, 
without  his  knowledge  and  consent!  So  you're  bound  out, 
are  you  ?  Who's  your  master  ?  " 

"  A  Capting  Faulkner.  But  I've  run  away.  I  run  away 
this  wery  night,  and  were  on  my  road  to  London  when  I  met 
you,"  explained  Benny. 

Tony  gave  a  long,  low  whistle,  and  then  he  said: 

"  Come  along  wi'  me,  my  boy.  We  mustn't  stand  here. 
The  bobbies  will  be  a  spotting  on  us.  Let's  walk  a  spell." 

They  sauntered  on  together,  and  Tony  said : 

"  So  you  ran  away  ?     Quite  right,  my  bully  boy.     But 


56  ANOBLELORD. 

what  did  you  run  away  for,  aside  o'  the  nateral  love  o'  lib- 
erty ?" 

"  I  couldn't  stand  it  no  longer,  daddy.  I  couldn't  indeed. 
I  tried  hard,  for  love  o'  the  children,  but  I  couldn't !  " 

"  They  mistreated  you,  did  they  ?  Like  'em  !  Tell  rue 
all  about  it,  my  man !  " 

Benny  told  him. 

"  And  so  you  slipped  out  after  they  were  all  asleep  ?  " 

"  Yes,  daddy." 

"  Who  fastened  the  door  after  you,  Benny  f" 

"  Nobody  didn't,  in  course.  There  wa'n't  nobody  to  do  it. 
The  cook  went  away  all  along  o'  Colonel  Brierly's  goings  on. 
And  the  nuss-rnaid  sleeps  long  o'  the  child'en  in  the  front 
part  o'  the  house  up  stairs.  And  lor,  daddy,  how  queer  you 
do  talk  !  In  course  I  wasn't  a  going  to  call  anybody  to  shet 
the  door  after  me  when  I  was  up  to  cutting  away  ! "  said 
Benny,  in  surprise  at  his  daddy's  unusual  stupidity. 

Tony  Brice  chuckled. 

"  And  so,  Benny,  you  left  the  door  open  ?  " 

"Why,  in  course,  daddy  !" 

"  And  they  was  all  fast  asleep  in  the  house  ?  " 

"  In  course,  daddy  !  " 

"Do  them  two  gemmen,  that  Capting  and  his  wisitor, 
sleep  sound  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  just  think  as  they  do,  daddy.  They  set  up 
drinking  punch  till  they  can  hardly  stand  on  their  feet,  and 
then  they  help  each  other  up  stairs  and  off  to  bed.  And 
they  sleep  that  sound  a  cannon  wouldn't  wake  'em." 

"Any  man-servant  about  the  house,  Benny  ?  " 

"No,  daddy,  nor  servant  whatsomedever,  'cept  'tis  the 
nuss-maid." 

"Any  dog?" 

«  No,  daddy." 

"  And  the  house  is  at  the  end  of  a  lonesome  lane  ?  " 

"  Yes,  daddy." 


THE      BURG  LAKY.  57 

"Benny,  I  think  as  you  was  werry  wrong  to  leave  that 
door  open.  Some  murderer  might  get  in  and  kill  them 
child'en  as  you're  so  fond  of,"  said  Tony,  shaking  his  head. 

"  Oh,  so  there  might !  "  said  Benny,  starting,  and  chang- 
ing color.  "  I  never  thought  of  that  before.  I  might  have 
locked  it  on  the  outside  too,  mightn't  I,  daddy?" 

"  Yes,  you  might.  Benny,  I  think  I  must  go  back  and 
lock  that  door  to  purtect  the  innocent  child'en,  you  know," 
said  Tony,  with  a  cunning  leer,  whose  wicked  meaning 
escaped  poor  Benny's  observation. 

"  I  think  I  must  go  back  and  lock  that  door  to  purtect  the 
child'en,  Benny." 

"  Yes,  daddy,  so  do,"  eagerly  exclaimed  the  boy. 

"  Is  the  house  far  off,  Benny  ?  " 

"  No,  indeed,  daddy." 

"I  wonder  what  o'clock  it  is  ?  " 

"  I  heerd  the  clock  o'  St.  Mark's  strike  one,  just  afore  I 
met  you,  daddy." 

"  Then  I've  got  time  enough.  Come  along,  bully  boy, 
and  show  me  the  way,"  said  Tony,  turning  back. 

They  went  on  together  until  they  reached  the  entrance  of 
the  lonely  lane  leading  to  Woodbine  Cottage. 

"  Is  that  the  house  down  there,  where  you  can  see  noth- 
ing but  chimneys  through  the  trees  ?  "  inquired  the  man. 

"  Yes,  daddy,  that's  the  house.  And  you  go  through  the 
garden  gate,  which,  in  course,  I  had  to  leave  that  open  too. 
And  you  go  round  on  your  left  hand  to  the  back  o'  the  house, 
and  there  you'll  see  the  kitchen  door  open.  There's  a  vine 
growin'  over  the  top  of  it,  and  a  bee-hive  close  by.  So  you'll 
know  it." 

"Oh,  I'll  find  it  fast  enough.  You  stay  here,  Benny, 
till  I  come  back,"  said  Brice,  as  he  walked  on  down  the 
lane. 

Benny  sat  down  on  a  stone  under  the  hedge  and  waited. 
He  was  very  tired  and  very  willing  to  rest  for  a  while. 
But  as  soon  as  he  sat  down  lie  began  to  grow  sleepy. 


58  A      N  C)  H  1.  K     L  O  R  D. 

He  watched  and  listened  until  Brice's  burly  form  disap- 
peared in  the  darkness  and  the  echoes  of  his  footsteps  died 
away,  and  nothing  was  to  be  seen  but  the  lonely  lane,  and 
nothing  was  to  be  heard  but  the  drizzling  rain. 

Benny  nodded,  recovered  himself;  nodded  again.  And 
he  repeated  this  process  some  half  a  dozen  times  before  he 
finally  fell  fast  asleep. 

He  had  slept  some  time,  when  he  was  suddenly  aroused 
by  a  quick  succession  of  violent  noises.  There  was  the 
report  of  several  shots  fired  fast,  one  after  the  other,  and 
there  was  the  swift  rushing  of  feet. 

Benny  started  up  in  a  panic  and  rubbed  his  eyes.  He 
saw  lights  glancing  from  windows  in  the  cottage  at  the  end 
of  the  lane,  and  he  knew  at  once  that  the  whole  household 
had  been  aroused.  Two  men  were  running  up  the  lane — 
the  pursued  and  the  pursuer.  The  foremost  one  had  a  large 
pack  upon  his  back,  which  retarded  his  progress.  The  hind- 
most one  was  disembarrassed  and  was  gaining  rapidly  on  the 
foremost,  who  suddenly  wheeled  around  and  fired  a  pistol. 
The  hindmost  man  dropped,  and  laid  perfectly  still. 

And  the  next  moment  Benny  recognized  Tony  Brico  in 
the  man  who  carried  the  pack  and  fired  the  pistol. 

"  Up,  bully  boy.  Cut  and  run  for  your  life.  London, 
yon  know.  Cracksman  Jack's,"  exclaimed  Brice,  as  he  flew 
past  the  boy. 

Benny,  suddenly  startled  from  his  deep  sleep,  perplexed, 
bewildered,  terrified,  scarcely  realizing  what  had  happened, 
yet  feeling  that  his  only  safety  consisted  in  instant  flight, 
staggered  to  his  feet  and  ran  off  as  fast  as  his  legs  could 
carry  him. 

Outside,  on  the  high-road,  everything  was  as  quiet  as  if 
nothing  terrible  had  occurred  in  the  lane.  It  was  very  dark, 
and  Benny  slackened  his  pace  and  peered  about  to  see  if  he 
could  catch  a  glimpse  of  Tony  anj'where.  Brice  was  no- 
where to  be  seen.  Then  Benny  heard  some  one  coming 


T  H  E     B  U  R  G  L  A  R  Y.  59 

from  the  direction  of  the  lane.  The  boy  shrank  into  still 
deeper  shadows,  and  watched  for  the  passing  of  the  new- 
comer. 

The  figure  that  walked  rapidly  by  seemed  only  a  denser 
shadow  than  that  which  enveloped  and  obscured  all  other 
objects.  Yet  Benny  thought  it  was  Captain  Faulkner,  and 
lie  now  knew  also  that  the  man  who  had  been  shot  by  Brice 
must  have  been  Colonel  Brierly,  and  that  the  Captain  was 
now  hurrying  to  give  the  alarm  to  the  police. 

Captain  Faulkner  walked  rapidly  a  few  yards  ahead  of 
the  spot  where  Benny  crouched,  and  then  turned  sharply 
off,  and  went  on  in  a  direction  at  right  angles  to  that  which 
the  boy  meant  to  take. 

Benny  watched  him  out  of  sight  and  hearing,  and  then 
arose  to  resume  his  flight. 

But  at  that  moment  a  hand  was  laid  on  his  shoulder,  and 
a  voice  whispered  into  his  ear : 

"  Hold  on.  Yer  mustn't  go  this  road,  j'er'd  be  nabbed 
in  half  an  hour.  Pie's  gone  for  the  bobbies.  Cut  across 
this  common  and  on  to  the  Westminster  Road,  and  so  to 
London.  I  must  take  another  track.  But  you  make  for 
London  and  Cracksman  Jack's.  Do  you  mind  now  ?  " 

"Yes,  daddy,  I  mind.     Was  you  here  all  the  time  ?" 

"  Sartain.  And  so  close  a  hint  you,  as  you  might  a  felt 
my  panting  at  the  back  o'  your  head.  There,  cut  away, 
now  !  There  ben't  a  minute  to  lose." 

With  these  words  the  robber  and  possible  murderer  was 
off. 

Benny  clambered  over  a  hedge  and  ran  across  a  field,  and 
then  clambered  over  a  second  hedge  and  got  out  upon  a 
common,  ran  across  the  common  and  came  out  upon  the 
high-road. 

The  darkness  of  the  night  and  the  drizzling  rain  favored 
his  escape.  And  the  dawn  of  day  found  him  in  London, 
and  in  the  neighborhood  of  the  Seven  Dials. 


60  A      NOBLE      LORD. 

He  knew  the  den  of  thieves  indicated  to  him  by  Tony 
Brice,  and  known  to  the  craft  as  Cracksman  Jack's.  It  was 
a  tumble-down  old  house,  in  a  court,  in  the  darkest,  dirtiest 
and  densest  part  of  the  neighborhood. 

Benny  passed  in  and  found  himself  in  the  midst  of  its 
wretched  denizens — beggars,  tramps,  thieves  and  worse,  of 
men,  women  and  children.  He  was  a  stranger  to  most  of 
them,  and  they  were  jealous  of  the  entrance  of  strangers. 
They  looked  at  him  suspiciously,  and  then  recognized  him 
as  the  little  tramp  that  he  was,  and  therefore  one  of  them- 
selves. 

"What  d'yer  want  here,  boy?"  inquired  a  good-natured 
looking,  poor  wreck  of  a  girl,  who  was  loitering  on  a  miser- 
able door-step. 

"  Why,  please,  Miss  Mary  Hann,  I  wants  the  cracksman," 
answered  the  lad. 

"Why,  it's  Benny!"  exclaimed  the  girl,  recognizing  an 
acquaintance.  "  I  declare,  child,  I  didn't  know  yer.  But 
then  I  ha'n't  seen  yer  for  more  than  a  year.  Yer  want  the 
cracksman  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Miss  Mary  Hann." 

"  Jack ! "  called  the  girl,  turning  her  head  toward  the 
door. 

A  low-built,  thick-set,  bettle-browed,  black-headed  and 
altogether  very  ill-favored  fellow  made  his  appearance  from 
the  inside  of  the  house,  growling : 

"  Wull,  wot  d'you  want  now  ?  " 

"  Here's  some  'un  wants  to  see  yer,"  said  the  girl,  point- 
ing to  Benny. 

"  Wot  do  you  want,  kid  ?  " 

"  Please,  Mr.  Jack,  daddy,  he — " 

"  Hello ! "  exclaimed  the  cracksman,  interrupting  the 
boy.  "  Why,  it's  Tony  Brice's  lad  !  Where  did  you  come 
from  ?  He  thought  as  how  you  was  gone  up  the  spout !  " 

Before  Benny  could  explain  where  he  did  come  from,  and 


T  H  E     B  U  U  G  L  A  R  Y.  61 

why  he  had  not  "  gone  up  the  spout,"  the  cracksman  hur- 
ried other  questions  upon  him. 

"  Hello  !  I  say ;  where's  your  daddy  ?  Did  he  send  you 
to  me  ?  But  in  course  he  did.  Why  didn't  he  keep  faith 
with  an  old  pal  ?  There  I  kept  watch  by  the  blasted  elm 
more'n  three  hours,  waiting  for  him.  Did  he  give  you  a 
message  for  me  ?  But  in  course  he  did.  So  out  with  it ! 
Wot's  up. with  him  ?  Was  he  copped?  " 

"  No,  Mr.  Jack,  but  he  told  me  to  come  'ere  to  you,  and 
he'd  be  along  by  and  by,"  said  Benny. 

"  Why,  wot's  he  been  up  to  now  ?  Have  he  cracked  a 
case  ?  " 

"  No,  Mr.  Jack,  not  cracked,  sneaked." 

"  Any  swag  ?  " 

"  Lots  !     He's  coming  on  with  it  too." 

"  That's  bully  !  " 

"  But  oh,  I  say,  Mr.  Jack,"  said  Benny,  turning  suddenly 
very  pale. 

"W'y,  wot's  the  matter,  bully  boy?"  demanded  the 
cracksman. 

"  Daddy'll  have  to  go  in  lavender."  * 

"  Eh  !  wot !  wot's  he  been  up  to  now,  besides  sneak- 
ing?" 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Jack,  he  have  shot  a  man  down  dead  as  run 
after  him  in  the  lane,"  replied  Benny,  in  a  low,  faint  voice, 
as  he  reeled  and  leaned  up  against  the  door-post. 

"  Whee-ee-ew !  "  commented  the  cracksman,  with  a  long 
whistle. 

Benny  burst  out  crying,  and  sobbed  hard. 

"  Come,  come,  my  bully  man  !  Brace  up  !  Daddy'll  be 
all  right  soon  as  he  gets  here,  you  know.  And  as  for  you, 
you're  safe  enough  anywhere,"  said  the  cracksman  cheer- 
fully. 

"  I  don't  know  that.     But  I  wasn't  a  thinking  on  myself. 

*  In  hiding  from  the  police. 


62  A      NOBLE      LOK1). 

I  was  a  thinking  on  poor  daddy,  an.'l  how  I  saw  him  shoot 
the  man  down  dead,  and  if  so  be  the  bobbies  cop  him  aiid 
me,  they'd  make  me  swear  his  life  away,"  sobbed  Benny. 

"  Bosh  !  they  couldn't  make  you  do  it !  You'd  never  go 
for  to  swear  away  your  own  dadd}T's  life,  3-011  know." 

"But  I  saw  him  shoot  the  man  down  dead!"  sobbed 
Benny,  whose  instinct  was  to  tell  the  truth — on  all  occa- 
sions upon  which  he  had  not  previously  been  instructed  to 
lie. 

"  S'pose  you  did  ?  That's  nothink.  Swear  you  didn't. 
Swear  you  saw  another  man  do  it.  And  let's  see — your 
daddy's  red-headed  and  freckle-faced.  Ssvear  now  to  a  man 
as  different  from  him  as  possible.  Swear  it  was  a  tall, 
black-headed  man,  with  a  long  face  and  a  hook  nose,  you 
know !  That'll  get  your  daddy  clean  off  from  being  scrag- 
ged— though  I  doubt  as  they'll  give  him  fourteen  years  for 
the  robbery — that  is,  if  so  be  they'll  catch  him,  which  they 
won't — not  if.  we  know  it,  eh,  bully  boy  ?  " 

"No,"  said  Benny,  as  his  face  brightened,  for  although 
lie  had  been  terribly  shocked  by  the  sight  of  the  murder, 
and  was  deeply  depressed  by  the  memory  of  it,  yet  now 
that  he  was  told  that  it  was  his  duty  to  swear  his  father 
clear  of  the  crime,  he  felt  his  spirits  rise. 

"And  here  he  comes  now,"  added  the  cracksman,  as  a 
ragged  man  with  a  pack  on  his  back,  entered  the  court, 
singing: 

«  Old  clo' !     Any  old  clo  ?  " 

"  Hello,  old  chap  !  What  have  you  got  there  ?  Old  clo' 
sure  enough  ?  "  inquired  the  cracksman. 

"Not  much  !  "  said  Tony,  as  he  took  the  pack  from  his 
shoulders  and  set  it  down  with  a  rattle  on  the  ground. 

"  Whee-ee-ew  !  Silverplate  !  "  commented  the  cracks- 
man. 

"And  watches  and  sich.  But  it  was  by  the  old  clo' 
dodge  that  I  got  'em  safe  through  the  streets  under  the 


T  II  E      N  I  G  H  T      A  I,  A  R  M.  63 

\verry  eyes  o'  the  bobbies,"  said  Tony,  with  a  boastful  and 
defiant  air  that  ill  concealed  the  trouble  of  his  guilty 
breast. 

"Bring  'em  in!"  said  the  cracksman  hurriedly,  leading 
the  way  into  the  house. 

And  there  we  must  leave  them  engaged  in  devising  some 
way  by  which  they  could  conceal  their  plunder  and  protect 
Tony. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE   NIGHT    ALARM   AT   WOODBIKE    COTTAGE. 

What's  the  business, 

That  such  a  hideous  uproar  calls  to  parley 
The  sleepers  in  the  house? — SHAKESPEAKB. 

FOR  an  hour  after  Benny  had  left  the  house,  the  sleepers 
therein  remained  undisturbed. 

The  extreme  quiet  of  the  situation  favored  deep  repose, 
but  at  the  same  time  made  the  senses  of  the  sleepers  more 
susceptible  to  any  unusual  sound  about  the  premises. 

That  night  Mrs.  Faulkner  had  retired  earl)7,  with  her 
children  and  nurse,  and  they  were  all  very  fast  asleep  in 
their  apartments  in  the  second  floor  front. 

Captain  Faulkner,  somewhat  overcome  by  punch,  had 
been  helped  up  to  his  wife's  room  by  Colonel  Brierly,  and 
had  dropped  down  in  his  clothes  on  the  sofa  to  sleep  him- 
self sober. 

Colonel  Brierly,  seasoned  old  toper  that  he  was,  had 
drank  about  twice  aa  much  as  his  younger  companion,  but 
yet  retired  to  his  bachelor  bedroom  on  the  first  floor  back  as 
sober  as  a  saint.  Having  a  good  digestion  also,  he  slept 
lightl}7,  and  dreamed  pleasantly,  eating  all  his  best  dishes 
over  again  in  his  visions,  until  a  very  slight  noise  in  his 
room  quietly  awakened  him. 


64  A      N  O  B  L  E      LORD. 

It  was  so  dark  that  he  could  see  nothing ;  but  he  lay  and 
listened,  not  without  some  disturbance  of  his  nervous  sys- 
tem; for  it  is  rather  trying  to  the  firmest  heart,  to  wake  in 
the  night  and  hear  some  unknown  person  prowling  about  iu 
the  darkness  around  your  bed. 

Colonel  Brierly  at  length  slipped  silently  off  his  mattress, 
and  felt  his  way  cautiously  to  the  gas-burner  and  the  match 
safe  that  hung  beneath  it,  and  drew  a  match.. 

By  its  sudden  flash  he  saw  a  man  with  a  full  sack  on  his 
back,  and  a  pair  of  pantaloons  in  his  hands. 

The  man  dropped  the  pantaloons  and  ran  off  with  the 
sack. 

Colonel  Brierly  lighted  the  gas  and  then  gave  chase  to 
the  man,  halloing  out  as  he  went : 

"  Ho  !  Faulkner  !  Faulkner  !     Thieves  !  thieves  ! " 

The  thief  ran  down  stairs,  through  the  back-passage  and 
out  at  the  kitchen  door,  the  Colonel  pursuing  him  and 
shouting  at  the  top  of  his  voice : 

"Stop  thief!  stop  thief!" 

But  the  burglar  darted  through  the  garden,  out  at  the 
gate,  and  up  the  lane  as  fast  as  his  legs  could  carry  him. 

The  Colonel,  who  had  caught  up  his  revolver  when  leav- 
ing his  room,  now  fired  three  or  four  shots,  in  quick  succes- 
sion, after  the  flying  thief,  who,  notwithstanding,  continued 
his  flight. 

Meanwhile  the  family  at  the  cottage  had  been  roused  by 
the  uproar. 

Molly  was  the  first  to  wake,  and  on  hearing  the  cries  of: 

"Ho,  Faulkner!  Faulkner!  Thieves!  thieves!"  she 
sprang  up,  and  ran  over  to  the  sofa  on  which  her  husband 
was  sleeping  off  the  fumes  of  his  punch,  and  she  laid  hold 
of  him  and  shook  him  vigorously,  while  she  shouted  in  his 
ears : 

"Charley!  Charley!  There's  some  robber  broke  into 
the  house,  and  Colonel  Brierly  is  calling  you  to  help  to 
catch  him ! " 


THE      NIGHT      ALARM.  65 

Over  and  over  again,  and  with  many  hard  shakes,  she 
had  to  cry  these  words  into  the  ears  of  the  intoxicated  man, 
before  she  could  arouse  him  to  a  comprehension  of  the  case. 

Even  then  he  only  stared  stupidly  at  his  wife,  and  asked 
which  of  the  children  was  in  tits. 

"  Go  wet  your  head,  Charley,  and  come  to  your  senses ! 
There  are  thieves  in  the  house  !  "  she  shouted  in  his  ears. 

Then  indeed  he  sprang  up,  dipped  his  head  in  a  basin 
of  cold  water,  wiped  it  hastily,  and  seized  his  revolvers, 
sobered  and  ready  for  action. 

"  Where  ?  "  he  inquired. 

"  There  ! "  answered  Molly,  pointing  through  the  front 
window,  which  she  had  opened.  "  There !  You  can't  see 
anything,  but  I  heard  them  run  out  of  the  gate,  and  Colo- 
nel Brierly  after  them.  Listen !  There !  some  one  is 
shooting !  "  she  exclaimed,  as  the  sound  of  several  pistol 
shots  reached  her  ears. 

Captain  Faulkner  darted  out  of  the  room,  ran  down  stairs 
and  out  of  the  house,  hurrying  as  fast  as  he  could  to  the 
assistance  of  his  guest. 

But  the  lane  was  now  dark  and  silent;  nothing  but  the 
dim  outlines  of  the  hedges  could  be  seen,  nothing  but  the 
drizzling  of  the  rain  could  be  heard. 

Still  he  went  on,  calling  : 

"  Brierly  !  Brierly  !     Where  the  deuce  are  you  ?  " 

But  there  was  no  answer. 

Near  the  cutlet  of  the  lane  he  stumbled  over  a  prostrate 
form  and  fell  to  the  ground. 

At  the  same  moment  a  faint  voice  spoke  and  said : 

"  For  Heaven's  sake,  help  me !  I  am  bleeding  to 
death ! " 

"  Brierly  !  Good  Heaven  !  Where  are  you  hurt  ?  "  ex- 
claimed Captain  Faulkner,  recognizing  the  voice  of  his 
guest,  and  struggling  to  his  feet  in  the  darkness. 

"  In  the  leg ;  but  I'm  faint  from  loss  of  blood.  I  believe 
4 


66  A      NOBLE      LORD. 

an  artery  is  severed.     That  scoundrel  of  a  burglar  turned 
on  me,  and  fired  just  as  I  was  about  to  seize  him." 

"  Well,  I  wouldn't  talk  if  I  were  you.  You'll  waste  your 
strength.  Now  what  the  deuce  am  I  to  do?  If  I  had  a 
light  here,  I  might  stanch  the  blood  at  once  ;  but  I  haven't. 
And  how  the  deuce  am  I  to  get  you  to  the  house  ?  Do  you 
think,  if  I  were  to  help  you  up,  that  you  could  manage  to 
walk  by  leaning  on  me?"  inquired  the  Captain,  in  great 
perplexity. 

"No,  no,  no — couldn't  think  of  it!  If  I  were  to  stand 
up  I  should  bleed  to  death  in  a  very  few  minutes,"  an- 
swered the  Colonel,  in  a  fainting  voice. 

"  I  could  run  back  to  the  house  and  fetch  the  two  women 
to  help  to  carry  you  ;  but  I  am  afraid  to  leave  you  here. 
You  might  faint.  What  the  deuce  had  I  best  do  ?  What 
would  you  rather  I  should  do,  old  fellow  ?  " 

"I  don't  know,  I'm  sure,"  groaned  the  wounded  man, 
growing  fainter  every  minute. 

"Wot's  the  row,  masters?"  inquired  a  countryman  who 
had  quietly  come  up. 

"A  gentleman  has  been  shot  by  a  burglar  while  pursuing 
the  miscreant.  And  I  want  help  to  take  him  to  the  house 
at  the  other  end  of  the  lane,"  explained  the  Captain. 

"  Here  I  am  at  your  service,  master.  And  glad  I  am  to 
be  on  hand.  I  was  going  home,  after  sitting  up  with  a  sick 
neighbor  all  night,  when  just  as  I  was  passing  the  'high- 
road near  the  opening  of  the  lane  I  heard  your  voices  in 
distress,  and  I  thought  I  would  just  come  and  see  what  was 
amiss.  No  offence,  I  hope  ?  " 

"  Of  course  not.     Only  lend  us  a  hand  here." 

"  Certain.  Master,  if  you'll  support  the  gentleman's 
Lead  and  shoulders,  I'll  support  his  legs." 

"  Yes,  that  will  do,"  said  Captain  Faulkner. 

And  between  them  they  raised  the  wounded  and  groan- 
ing man,  and  bore  him  gently  on  toward  the  cottage. 


THE      NIGHT      ALARM.  67 

The  whole  house  was  lighted  up  now,  as  if  light  was  the 
very  best  protection  against  hidden  dangers. 

And  all  the  members  of  the  little  family,  mother,  nurse, 
and  little  children,  half  dressed  and  half  frightened,  were 
assembled  in  the  front  hall. 

Seeing  them  standing  in  the  blaze  of  the  gaslight,  as  he 
drew  near  with  his  burden,  Captain  Faulkner  called  out : 

"Now,  Molly,  don't  be  frightened;  for  we're  bringing 
home  a  wounded  man." 

"  Is  it  the  robber  ?  "  inquired  Mrs.  Faulkner,  hastening 
out  to  the  gate  to  meet  them,  and  fully  believing  that  Cap- 
tain Faulkner  and  Colonel  Brierly  had  wounded  and  captured 
the  burglar,  and  were  bearing  him  home  in  triumph. 

"But,  good  Heaven!  It  is  the  Colonel  himself!"  ex- 
claimed Molly,  as  she  recognized  the  wounded  man. 

"  Yes,  my  dear  lady,  it  is  I.  And  the  scoundrel  has  done 
for  me,  I  do  believe,"  groaned  the  Colonel,  as  they  bore  him 
into  the  house. 

"  Oh,  come  now,  master  !  Not  so  bad  as  that,  neither," 
said  the  countryman  cheerfully. 

They  carried  him  to  his  own  chamber  and  laid  him  on  his 
bed,  and  then  began  carefully  to  undress  him.  They  found 
the  wound  in  his  leg  already  almost  stanched  by  the  clotting 
of  the  blood.  They  bound  it  up  as  it  was,  until  they  could 
procure  the  services  of  a  surgeon. 

"  Now  where  is  Benny  ?  I  must  send  that  boy  for  Dr. 
Herby  at  once,"  said  the  Captain. 

"  Oh,  Charley,  dear,  I'm  sure  I  forgot  to  tell  you  !  I  was 
so  shocked  at  seeing  the  Colonel  wounded  that  I  forgot  all 
about  that  boy,"  said  Mrs.  Faulkner,  who  was  standing  by 
the  Colonel's  bed. 

"What  about  him,  Molly  ?  "  inquired  the  Captain. 

"  Oh,  Charley,  he's  gone  !  " 

"  Gone ! " 

"  Yes  ;  run  away  ! " 


68  A      NOBLE     LORD. 

"Are  you  sure  ?  " 

*'  Oh,  Charley,  dear,  yes.  As  soon  as  you  ran  out  in  the 
lane  we  were  all  frightened  at  not  having  a  man  in  the 
house  at  such  a  dreadful  time,  and  we  all  went  together  to 
Benny's  room  to  call  him,  and  we  found  that  he  was  not 
there.  And  we  called  him,  and  searched  for  him  all  over  the 
house,  but  he  was  certainty  gone." 

"  Well,  I  swear  !  That  diabolical  little  miscreant — I  see 
it  all  now — has  opened  the  door  to  the  burglars,  and  let  them 
in  !  "  exclaimed  the  Captain. 

"  I  always  thought  the  little  sneak  looked  like  a  snakes- 
man,"  murmured  the  Colonel. 

"A  suakesman  !  "  echoed  Molly,  in  perplexity. 

"Yes,  dear  lady;  but  you  don't  know  what  that  means. 
In  thieves'  Latin,  a  snakesman  is  a  thin,  lithe  boy,  trained 
to  wriggle  himself,  like  a  little  serpent,  through  a  small 
window,  side  light,  or  panel,  into  a  house,  and  open  a  door 
to  bigger  burglars." 

"  Oh,  Benny  was  thin  enough,  goodness  knows ;  but  he 
didn't  look  wicked." 

"  Ah  !  his  innocent  looks  made  him  all  the  fitter  instru- 
ment of  evil.  But  what  the  deuce,  Faulkner !  are  you 
going  to  leave  me  without  surgical  help  until  my  wound  in- 
flames ?  "  groaned  the  Colonel,  trying  to  draw  up  his  suffer- 
ing limb  and  failing  to  do  so,  and  then  groaning  worse  than 
ever. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  Brierly  !  This  new  discovery  has 
quite  upset  me.  I'll  go  for  a  surgeon  at  once,  and  to  the 
police  quarters  too,  while  I'm  about  it,"  said  the  Captain, 
preparing  to  be  off. 

"  Oh — oh — oh  !  The  rascals  have  got  both  my  watches, 
with  their  chains  and  diamond  seals.  One  is  a  chronometer 
— a  heavy  gold  chronometer ;  and  the  other — oh,  oh,  oh  ! 
blast  the  fellow  !  how  my  wound  smarts  ! — the  other  is  a 
small  gold,  enamelled  watch,  studded  with  diamonds.  But 


THE      NIGHT      ALARM.  G9 

you  would  know  them,  should  the  scoundrel  be  taken  with 
the  property  on  him." 

"  Oh,  yes,  of  course  !  Don't  disturb  yourself,"  said  the 
Captain,  drawing  on  his  gloves. 

"  And  I  suppose  you  have  suffered  equally,  Faulkner,  my 
poor  fellow  ?  "  said  Brierly. 

The  Captain  burst  out  laughing. 

"  I  should  like  to  know  what  they  could  find  worth  carry- 
ing off  in  our  house.  Molly  and  I  have  no  money,  nor  do 
we  own  a  watch  or  an  article  of  jewelry  between  us,  nor  a 
single  piece  of  plate,  unless  Britannia  ware  will  pass  for 
such,"  he  said. 

"And  they've  taken  all  that,  and  our  spoons  and  forks 
to  boot ! "  said  Mrs.  Faulkner  ruefully. 

"  Electro-plate !  Oh,  how  the  rascals  are  sold !  They 
took  this  for  silver,  in  the  dark,  you  see  !  "  said  the  Captain, 
roaring  with  laughter. 

"Faulkner,  will  you  go  for  a  surgeon?"  impatiently 
demanded  the  Colonel. 

"  My  dear  fellow,  I  am  off  now  !  Friend,  will  you  oblige 
me  by  remaining  here  with  these  frightened  women  until 
I  return,"  inquired  the  Captain. 

"With  all  my  heart,  sir,"  answered  the  countryman. 
But  Captain  Faulkner  scarcely  waited  to  hear  the  reply, 
before  he  bounded  down  the  stairs  and  out  of  the  house  on 
his  errand. 

On  the  high-road,  as  we  know,  he  passed  close  by  the 
burglar  and  the  boy,  without  suspecting  the  proximity  of 
either. 

He  hastened  first  to  the  residence  of  the  nearest  surgeon, 
knocked  him  up,  informed  him  of  the  outrage,  and  gave 
him  directions  how  to  find  the  cottage  in  the  lane. 

The  doctor  promised  to  hasten  immediately  to  the  assist- 
ance of  the  wounded  man. 

And  Captain  Faulkner  left  him  and  hurried  away  to  the 
police  quarters. 


70  A      N  O  B  I.  E      I.  O  R  D. 

He  found  the  night-watch  at  the  station  house,  just  about 
to  be  relieved.  He  inquired  for  the  principal  officer  who 
might  then  be  on  duty,  and  he  was  at  once  shown  into  a 
stuffy,  musty,  close  little  office,  where  the  gas  was  still 
burning  and  the  weary  official  at  the  desk  still  watching. 

He  went  up  to  this  person  and  gave  his  name  and  stated 
his  case,  all  of  which  was  taken  down  in  writing  by  a  clerk 
seated  at  the  end  of  the  same  desk. 

He  charged  his  bound  boy,  Benjamin  Hurst,  alias  Ben- 
jamin Brice,  with  being  associated  with  a  burglar  or  bur- 
glars, and  with  having,  on  the  just  preceding  night,  opened 
the  doors  to  one  or  more  thieves,  who  robbed  the  house  of 
money,  gold  watches  and  other  articles,  and  seriously 
wounded  a  gentleman  visitor  of  the  family,  while  he  was 
in  pursuit  of  them,  and  then  made  off  with  their  booty. 

"  Have  3Tou  any  suspicion  as  to  who  were  the  parties  that 
robbed  your  house,  Captain  Faulkner?"  inquired  the  In- 
spector. 

"Not  the  slightest  suspicion  as  to  the  identity  of  any 
one  among  them  except  the  boy.  It  is  certain  that  he 
opened  the  door  to  the  burglars,"  answered  the  Captain. 

"Where  is  that  boy?" 

"  He  ran  away  with  the  thieves  after  the  robbery.  I 
thought  I  had  mentioned  that." 

"  No,  you  had  not.  And  it  is  important.  You  know  the 
boy,  and  you  do  not  know  the  others  ?  " 

"  Exactly." 

"  Do  you  happen  to  know  any  of  the  boy's  friends,  asso- 
ciates, or  haunts  ?" 

"No;  he  is  an  orphan,  and  I  got  him  from  the  work- 
house last  spring.  Yet,  stay !  Yes,  I  do  know  some  of  his 
friends  and  places  of  resort,  or  rather  I  know  one  of  each." 

"  Let  us  hear  what  you  know,  if  you  please,  Captain." 

"  He  has  some  friends  that  he  visits  in  London,  called — 
let  me  see  —  a  curious  name  —  Beech?  —  Hazel?  Pine? 


THE      NIGHT      ALARM.  71 

No — Juniper  ?  That's  it — Juniper!  There  is  a  carpenter 
and  his  family  of  the  name  of  Juniper.  They  live  in  the 
yard  behind  the — the — the  'Victoria?' — no — the  Thespian 
Temple  theatre." 

"  Oh,  yes ;  I  know.  And  they  have  a  girl  named  Suzy — 
a  pretty  little  dancing  girl  ?" 

"That's  it!  'Suzy'  —  a  friend  of  Benny's;  though  I 
didn't  know  she  was  a  dancing  girl.  Benny  spent  his  half- 
holidays  with  her.  She  is  the  only  friend  he  has  in  the 
world,  as  far  as  I  know." 

"  We  must  watch  the  stage  carpenter's  family.  We  shall 
probably  thereby  light  upon  Master  Benny,  and  through 
him  discover  the  perpetrators  of  this  daring  robbery.  In 
the  meantime  also,  we  shall  set  our  most  experienced  detec- 
tives on  other  tracks,"  said  the  Inspector. 

And  then  he  asked  Captain  Faulkner  a  number  of  other 
questions,  to  which  he  received  some  satisfactory  and  some 
unsatisfactory  answers. 

And  then  he  gave  his  client  a  number  of  valuable  hints, 
all  tending  toward  the  discovery  of  the  robbers. 

And  finall}'',  as  it  was  now  broad  daylight,  the  Captain 
arose  and  took  his  leave. 

When  he  returned  to  Woodbine  Cottage,  he  found  the 
Colonel  in  a  deep,  wholesome  sleep. 

"  The  doctor  says  he  will  be  all  right  in  a  week  or  ten 
days,  if  he  will  keep  quiet  and  abstain  from  stimulants," 
said  Molly,  as  she  met  her  "  dear  Charley  "  in  the  hall. 

"  The  devil  himself  can't  make  the  Colonel  do  that,"  re- 
plied the  Captain. 

Then  they  went  in  to  breakfast. 

"  And  only  think,  Charley,  dear,"  said  Molty,  as  they  sat 
down  to  the  table,  "the  horrid  burglars  have  taken  away  all 
our  electro-plate  service,  and  we  have  got  to  use  the  tin  cof- 
fee pot  from  the  kitchen." 

"Never  mind,  Molly  !     Revenge  is  sweet !    This  happen- 


72  A      N  O  B  L  K     L  O  R  D. 

ed  fill  through  the  treachery  of  that  little  serpent,  Benny  ! 
But  we  will  have  him  in  limbo  before  a  week  is  over  our 
heads.  You'll  see,"  said  the  Captain  with  assurance. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

THE     DETECTIVE. 

A  most  seemly  f»ir  and  reverend  gentleman  I 
We'll  trust  him. — MESSBMOF.B. 

BKXXY  could  not  be  found,  although  he  was  diligently 
sought  for  by  the  most  experienced  detectives — not  that 
they  cared  so  much  to  capture  the  boy,  except  as  a  means 
of  capturing  the  man,  and  perhaps  the  gang  of  men,  en- 
gaged in  the  burglary. 

A  skillful  detective,  in  the  disguise  of  a  home  missionary 
clergyman,  visited  the  Junipers,  and  under  the  pretence  of 
seeking  the  boy  for  the  purpose  of  entering  him  as  a  resi- 
dent pupil  in  one  of  the  public  charity  boarding-schools  for 
boys,  made  many  inquiries  concerning  Benny. 

Good,  motherly  Mrs.  Juniper  was  at  once  interested. 

"  And  a  good  job,  sir,  it  will  be,  to  take  the  poor,  misfor- 
tunate  orphing  and  put  him  to  school,  to  have  him  reared  up 
in  the  way  he  should  go  according  to  the  Scripter,"  she 
said,  suiting  the  style  of  her  conversation  to  the  cloth  of 
the  supposed  clergyman. 

"  But  I  do  not  know  where  to  find  the  lad  unless  you  tell 
me,"  answered  Spry,  the  disguised  detective. 

"  Lor,  sir,  I  can  tell  you  that  easy  enough.  He  be  a 
page  living  along  of  one  Captain  Forkiner,  at  Woodbine 
Cottage,  Hawthing  Lane,  Sydingham." 

"  He  was  living  there,  but  he  is  not  now.  He  was  en- 
ticed away  some  ten  days  ago." 

"  Lor !    see  at  that  now !     Who  could  a  done  it  ?     Old 


T  H  E      PET  ECTI  V  E.  16 

Ruth  Drug  she's  dead,  and  a  good  job  too !  Madge  she's  in 
the  rnad-house,  which  is  another  good  job !  And  that  ras- 
killy  ruffing — begging  your  parding,  sir,  it's  that  bad  Tony 
Brice,  his  pappy-in-law,  as  I  mean — he's  been  run  away  this 
ever  so  long,  and  a  good  riddance  of  bad  rubbish,  sir  !  Any 
way,  they're  all  gone,  them  male  and  female  reporates  as 
were  leading  of  the  boy  to  his  everlasting  ruing.  And  so 
I  can't  think  who  have  enticed  him  awa}T." 

"  No  more  can  I,"  said  Mr.  Juniper,  who  happened  to  be 
present. 

"  I  had  hoped  that  you  would  be  able  to  assist  me  in  res- 
cuing this  interesting  lad  from  his  evil  associates,"  said  the 
pretended  clergyman. 

"  So  we  can,  sir.  Indeed  we  can  ! "  put  in  eager,  affec- 
tionate, confiding  little  Suzy.  "  No  matter  where  Benny  is, 
he  will  be  sure  to  come  to  see  us  soon.  Benny  is  good,  sir. 
Oh,  indeed,  indeed  Benny  is  good,  sir.  Ever  since  I  knew 
Benny,  he  was  always  doing  the  very  best  he  could  to  please 
everybody — old  folks  and  children,  and  the  poor  dumb  crea- 
tures too  !  for  BennjT  felt  for  them  all,  sir,  he  did  !  Oh,  you 
don't  know  what  a  heart  poor  Benny  has  !  Oh,  if  he  was 
only  a  great  rich  gentleman,  he  would  do  so  much  for  the 
poor,  sir.  Oh,  I  hope  you'll  find  him  soon,  and  put  him  to 
school,  and  give  him  a  good  education,  and  then,  may  be, 
he'll  make  the  riches  for  himself." 

"  You  are  quite  enthusiastic  and  eloquent  in  praise  of 
your  young  friend,  my  little  maid,  and  no  doubt  he  deserves 
all  your  encomiums,"  replied  the  pretended  minister,  who 
saw  in  this  innocent  and  confiding  little  girl  his  most  effec- 
tual aid  in  the  capture  of  the  boy. 

"  Oh,  sir,  he  does  deserve  all  the  good  one  can  say  of  him  ; 
he  does  indeed,  sir.  Poor  Benny!  he  never  thinks  of  him- 
self; he  always  thinks  of  others  !  Nothing  is  too  mean  for 
Benny's  pity,  sir.  I've  seen  him  give  his  own  crust  to  a 
poor  famished  dog,  and  go  hungry  himself.  Oh,  I'm  so  glad 
he  is  to  go  to  school  ! " 


74  A      NOBLE     LORD. 

"And  you,  my  little  maid,  you  seem  to  go  to  school  to 
some  purpose.  You  speak  well,"  said  the  disguised  detec- 
tive, wishing  to  draw  the  child  out. 

"  No,  sir,  I  don't  go  to  school.  But  I  learn  how  to  speak 
properly  through  studying  my  parts." 

"  Your  '  parts  ! '  "  echoed  the  cunning  detective. 

"  My  parts  in  the  play,  sir.  I  am  an  actress,  sir.  I  hope 
you  don't  think  it  very  wicked  of  me  to  be  an  actress  ?  " 
inquired  Suzy,  glancing  timidly  at  the  professional  black 
coat  of  the  pretended  minister. 

"  Oh,  not  at  all,  my  child  !  It  is  the  person,  not  the  pro- 
fession, that  is  concerned  in  Christianity.  The  illustrious 
Sarah  Siddons  was  at  the  same  time  a  good  Christian  and  a 
great  actress,"  replied  the  pretended  minister. 

"Oh,  I'm  so  glad  to  hear  that!"  exclaimed  Suzy,  with 
sudden  animation;  "that's  what  I  want  to  be — just!  I 
want  to  be  a  good  Christian  and  a  great  actress  !  For  oh ! 
I  do  love  the  church  service.  I  never  miss  it  on  Sundays. 
It  warms  my  heart,  and  sets  my  whole  soul  in  a  glow. 
And  oh !  I  love  and  honor  more  than  tongue  can  tell,  Him 
whose  very  name  I  reverence  too  much  to  speak  except  ill 
prayer  or  praise,"  murmured  Suzy  reverently. 

"  How  the  child  talks !  But  then  she  is  a  little  actress — 
the  '  Infant  Wonder'  of  the  Thespian — and  that  makes  all 
the  difference  between  her  and  other  children,"  thought  the 
disguised  detective,  as  he  gazed  at  the  eloquent  face  of  the 
little  artiste.  Then  speaking  kindly  to  her  he  said: 

"  And  you  also  love  your  art  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  yes  ;  I  do  indeed  !     It  makes  my  heart  burn." 

"And  you  wish  to  be  at  once  a  good  Christian  and  a 
great  actress  ?  Well,  you  can  be  both." 

"And  I'm  so  glad  to  hear  that.  For  Mary  Kempton, 
you  must  know,  told  me  that  I  could  not  be  both ;  that  I 
couldn't  be  any  sort  of  an  actress  and  any  sort  of  a  Chris- 
tian at  the  same  time;  and  that  I  must  either  give  up  my 


THE      DETECTIVE.  75 

art  or  give  up  my  Christianity.  She  almost  broke  my 
heart.  What  is  to  become  of  my  family,"  said  the  little 
bread-winner,  looking  protectingly  around  upon  her  father 
and  mother,  and  her  elder  brothers  and  sisters.  "  What  is 
to  become  of  my  family  if  I  give  up  my  art  ?  " 

"Certainly,  what  indeed!  It  would  be  very  unchristian 
in  you  not  to  provide  for  them." 

"Oh,  sir,  I'm  so  glad  to  hear  you  say  so.  And  you  a 
clergyman  too.  For  oh,  sir,  it  is  not  only  my  family  that  I 
have  been  thinking  of,  but  Benny,  sir.  Poor  Benny !  I 
see  (  no  light  in  Heaven  or  earth '  for  poor  Benny,  unless  I 
succeed  in  making  a  fortune  on  the  stage." 

"And  when  you  have  made  a  fortune  on  the  stage,  what 
then  ?  "  inquired  the  detective,  with  a  smile. 

"Oh,  then,  sir,  I  mean  to  provide  for  my  father  and 
mother,  and  set  my  brothers  up  in  business,  and  give  mar- 
riage portions  to  ray  sisters — and — " 

The  little  girl  stopped  suddenly,  but  the  pretended  cler- 
gyman continued  for  her : 

"  Then  you  will  marry  Benny  and  so  make  his  fortune  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir ;  and  we'll  live  in  a  pretty  place  in  the  country, 
with  trees  and  lambs  and  things  that  Benny  likes.  And 
we'll  give  away  a  great  deal. 

'  We  will  feed  the  hungry  and  clothe  the  poor, 
And  all  shall  bless  us  who  leave  our  door, ' 

said  the  child,  quoting  a  poem*  that  she  had  often  recited 
with  great  effect,  and  which,  no  doubt,  had  had  its  influence 
in  forming  the  best  parts  of  her  character. 

"A  very  pretty  little  programme  for  the  future,"  said  the 
detective,  rising,  as  if  about  to  take  leave. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Juniper,  out  of  respect  to  the  supposed  min- 
ister, whom  they  believed  to  be  professionally  catechising 
and  "improving"  their  daughter,  had  kept  silence  during 
the  interview  between  the  detective  and  the  child. 

*  Whittier's  Maud  Mailer. 


7G  A      NOB  L  E      LORD. 

Now  the  interview  seemed  over,  Mrs.  Juniper  could  hold 
her  tongue  no  longer.  Her  maternal  pride  broke  forth  iu 
these  words  : 

"Which  them  as  is  good  judges  do  say,  sir,  as  my  gal  has 
great  talents  for  the  stage,  and  is  bound  to  make  her  fortune 
when  she  grows  to  .be  a  woman." 

"There  is  no  doubt  of  it,"  said  the  obliging  detective; 
"  and  let  me  tell  you,  my  good  woman,  that  all  the  greatest 
actresses  and  singers  in  the  world  have  sprung  from  the  same 
rank  of  life  with  your  little  girl  here." 

"Indeed,  sir!  Well,  it  do  seem  as  if  the  poor  and  hum- 
ble ought  to  have  something  sometimes  to  encourage  them." 

"Certainly  they  ought." 

"  Yes,  sir,  she's  right  there  where  she  says  she  will  make 
a  fortune  for  herself  and  all  her  family ;  but  as  to  her  talk 
about  ever  marrying  of  Benny,  that's  all  nothing  but  childish 
nonsense,  you  know,  sir." 

"  Of  course ;  of  course.  It  is  not  likely  that  the  future 
queen  of  the  stage  will  so  lower  herself,"  agreed  the  com- 
pliant detective. 

"  As  if  I  hadn't  said,  over  and  over  again,  that  success 
itself  would  not  be  sweet  unless  shared  with  Benny,"  said 
Suzy. 

"  Well,  well,  we  will  see,"  said  the  detective. 

"  Yes,  yes,  we  will  see,"  agreed  Mrs.  Juniper. 

"  And  I'll  tell  you  all  what — it's  all  childish  talk,  and  it's 
no  use  to  mind  it.  But  let  our  gal  get  to  years  of  discretion, 
and  then,  fortin  or  no  fortin,  fame  or  no  fame,  if  she's  then 
a  mind  to  marry  Benny,  blowed  if  she  shan'n't  marry  him  ! 
If  she  makes  our  fortin,  must  we  pay  her  by  breaking  of  her 
heart  ?  And  who's  got  a  better  right,  I'd  like  to  know,  to 
have  her  own  way,  than  her  as  wins  all  our  bread  ?  When 
she's  twenty  years  old,  if  she  wants  to  marry  Benny,  she 
shall  marry  Benny  !  Blowed  if  she  sha'n't !  Do  you  hear 
that,  girl  ?  If  you  want  Benny  when  you  get  to  be  a 
woman,  you  shall  have  Benny  !" 


THEBETECTIVE.  77 

"  Yes,  papa,  dear  ! "  answered  Suzy. 

"  Well,  now,  my  friends,"  said  the  disguised  detective,  "  [ 
feel  so  interested  in  the  future  well-being  of  this  lad,  that  I 
shall  call  again  to-morrow." 

"  Do,  sir,  in  welcome,"  replied  Mrs.  Juniper. 

"I  shall  not  be  here,  sir.  I  am  going  down  to-morrow  to 
commence  a  week's  engagement  at  the  Brighton  Theatre 
with  Madame  Vesta's  troupe.  But  oh  !  I  hope  you  will  find 
Benny!  And  I  shall  feel  so  anxious  until  I  hear.  Wouldn't 
you  please  condescend  to  write  to  me,  sir,  just  one  little  line, 
to  let  me  know  when  you  find  him  ?  " 

"  Certainly,  rny  dear.     Where  shall  I  direct  my  letter  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  to  Mademoiselle  Zephyriue,  care  of  Madame  Vesta, 
Brighton  Theatre,  Brighton." 

"  Mademoiselle  Zephyrine  ?  "  echoed  the  detective. 

"  Yes ;  that  is  my  stage  name.  I  hope  you  don't  think 
it  is  wicked  for  me  to  call  myself  by  another  name  ?  " 

"Nonsense,  nonsense,  my  child.  Even  ministers  of  the 
gospel  sometimes  preach  under  their  own  name  and  write 
under  another  name,  that  the}-  call  their  nomme  du  plume, 
Mademoiselle  Zephyrine  is  your  nomme  du  theatre"  said 
the  pretended  minister  encouragingly. 

"And  indeed  I'm  so  much  obliged  to  you,  sir,  for  setting 
of  her  mind  at  ease  on  that  and  her  profession  too.  It  was 
very  ill  convenient  to  have  Mary  Kempton  a  coming  here 
with  the  best  of  intentions,  and  upsetting  of  her  mind  so 
about  its  being  sinful  to  act  on  the  stage  and  that,  as  the 
child  couldn't  reel}'  half  do  her  duty,"  said  Mrs.  Juniper. 

"  And  who  is  this  Mary  Kemptou,  whom  I  hear  you 
quote  so  often  ?  " 

"  A  very  good  girl,  sir,  barring  her  being  a  bit  of  a 
fanatic  all  along  of  attending  the  Eeverend  Mr.  Sturgeon's 
preaching,"  answered  Mrs.  Juniper. 

"  Oh  !  a  dissenter.  That  accounts  for  it  all.  But  set 
your  mind  at  ease,  my  good  woman.  Your  daughter  is 


78  A      NOBLE      LORD. 

fulfilling  her   duty   in   that  state  of  life   to  which  she  is 
called." 

"  Oh,  sir,  you  make  us  so  happy  when  you  say  that ! 
And  coming  from  a  reverend  gentleman  like  you,  of  course 
it  sets  our  minds  completely  at  rest.  Suzy,  you  hear  what 
the  reverend  gentleman  says  ?  And  now  you  won't  worry 
any  more,  will  you  ?  " 

"No,  mamma,  no  more,"  answered  the  little  girl. 

The  pretended  clergyman  then  took  leave,  with  a  promise 
to  come  again  the  next  day. 

And  the  next  morning  Suzy  joined  Madame  Vesta's  opera 
troupe  at  the  London  Bridge  Railway  station,  and  started 
with  them  to  commence  that  engagement  at  Brighton  which 
was  to  have  such  a  great  influence  on  all  her  future  life. 

The  Junipers  left  at  home  watched  for  Benny,  but  the 
boy  did  not  come. 

The  detective,  in  the  disguise  of  a  benevolent  clergyman, 
came  every  day,  only  to  be  disappointed. 

At  length  the  detective  went  and  reported  his  ill-luck  to 
the  party  supposed  to  be  most  interested — to  Captain 
Faulkner  of  Woodbine  Cottage. 

"  Oh,  leave  the  lad  alone ! "  said  that  good-natured  good- 
for-nothing,  who  had  got  over  his  short-lived  auger  against 
Benny,  and  only  remembered  the  affectionate  boy's  winning 
ways.  "  Leave  the  lad  alone.  There's  been  no  murder 
done.  Brierly  is  on  his  legs  again,  all  right.  He  never 
was  half  so  badly  hurt  as  he  was  scared.  And  he  was 
scared,  badly  scared,  in  spite  of  his  boasted  feats  of  valor  in 
the  Indian  warfare,"  added  the  Captain,  with  a  jolly  laugh. 
"  So  leave  the  lad  alone ;  I  don't  wish  to  have  him  pun- 
ished, for — blame  you  ! — your  punishments  are  ten  times 
worse  than  the  sins  punished." 

"  We  do  not  care  to  get  the  boy  for  the  boy's  sake,  sir. 
But  we  believe  him  to  be  connected,  as  snakesman,  with  a 
baud  of  burglars  to  whom  we  attribute  the  many  daring 


THE      DETECTIVE.  79 

robberies  of  the  past  month.  And  we  wish  to  get  hira  in 
our  hands  as  a  means  for  the  discovery  of  the  band.  Young 
lads  are  timid,  and  can  usually  be  terrified  into  giving  up 
their  older  accomplices." 

"  I  somehow  think  that  Benny  cannot  be.  There  is  a 
sort  of  crude,  untrained  heroism  about  the  child,  that  would 
lead  him  to  sacrifice  himself  on  a  false  sense  of  honor  to  his 
accomplices,"  said  the  Captain. 

"No.  Benny  '11  never  peach,  on  a  pal,"  added  Master 
Charley. 

"  There  ! "  exclaimed  the  Captain,  beginning  to  lose  a 
little  of  his  good  humor.  "  You  see  what  it  is  to  have  a  boy 
of  that  class  in  one's  house  !  Already  he  has  taught  my  son 
his  thieves'  honor  in  good  set  thieves'  Latin.  Pray  what  is 
the  meaning  of  "  peaching  on  a  pal  ?" 

"  Betraying  an  accomplice,"  answered  the  detective. 

"  Telling  on  a  playmate,"  at  the  same  instant  answered 
Master  Charley. 

"  With  your  leave,  Captain,  I  must  still  prosecute  my 
search  for  the  boy,"  said  the  detective,  who  thereupon  took 
leave  and  went  a\vay. 

But  days  passed  and  still  Benny  was  not  found. 

Meanwhile  Captain  Faulkner,  through  his  most  unfortu- 
nate intimacy  with  Colonel  Brierly,  was  fast  relapsing  into 
his  former  bad  habits. 

He  staid  out  every  night  to  a  very  late  hour.  H,e  spent 
about  three  evenings  in  the  week  at  the  lodgings  of  Colonel 
Brierly. 

Their  friendship,  if  it  could  be  called  such,  was  of  the 
most  uncertain  quality. 

Both  were  hard  drinkers.  Captain  Faulkner,  though 
good-humored,  was  very  reckless  in  conversation  ;  while 
Colonel  Brierly  was  decidedly  quarrelsome  and  insulting, 
in  his  cups. 

A  careless  jest  from  the  Captain,  an  insulting  repartee 


80  ANOBLELORD. 

from  the  Colonel,  might  at  any  moment  break  the  bond  that 
bound  these  bonsvivants  together. 

The  "  impending  crisis  "  came  at  last. 

It  happened  that,  one  evening,  Captain  Faulkner  was 
invited  to  meet  a  few  gentlemen  at  supper,  at  the  lodging 
of  his  friend  Colonel  Brierly. 

The  company  met  in  due  time,  and  supped  sumptuously, 
the  dishes  having  been  prepared  after  the  Colonel's  own 
receipts.  Choice  wines  "  graced "  the  board,  and  were 
freely  imbibed  by  the  guests. 

At  the  end  of  the  supper,  when  every  guest  had  already 
drank  a  great  deal  too  much,  Colonel  Brierly  rang  the  bell, 
and  ordered  a  punch-bowl,  a  kettle  of  boiling  water,  half 
a  dozen  different  sorts  of  liquors,  half  a  dozen  different  sorts 
of  fruits  and  spices ;  and  having  obtained  all  that  was  nec- 
essary to  this  hell-broth,  proceeded  to  brew  his  own  cele- 
brated Punjaub  punch,  which  he  afterward  served  out  with 
his  own  hand  to  his  guests. 

It  was  while  they  were  sipping  this  punch,  and  agreeing 
that  if  the  Olympian  gods  had  ever  been  so  lucky  as  to 
have  tasted  this  exquisite  beverage,  they  would  never  have 
condescended  to  nectar  more,  and  while  they  were  uttering 
other  nonsense  of  the  same  sort,  that  their  host,  tete-monte 
with  his  punch,  suddenly  mounted  his  hobby  of  marvellous 
story-telling. 

On  this  occasion  the  scene  was  changed.  It  was  no 
longer  tiger  hunting  in  India,  but  deer-stalking  in  the 
western  wilderness  of  North  America. 

"Where,  sir,"  he  said,  addressing  more  particularly  his 
nearest  neighbor  at  the  table,  "  I  was  once  on  leave,  and  on 
a  visit  to  a  friend  stationed  at  one  of  the  frontier  forts — 
commanding  the  fort,  in  fact,"  he  added,  correcting  himself. 

"A  fine  country  that,  by  all  accounts,"  said  his  neighbor. 

"Fine  country,  sir!"  exclaimed  the  Colonel,  turning  off 
a  bumper  of  punch.  "Fine  country,  sir!  You  never  saw, 


THEDETECTIVE.  81 

heard  of,  or  read  of  so  fine  a  country  in  your  life,  sir !  Stu- 
pendous forests !  Magnificent  game !  I  tell  you,  sir,  I 
have  seen  forests  of  titanic  oaks,  whose  boles  were  yards  in 
circumference,  standing  scarcely  three  feet  apart,  and  with 
their  limbs  and  twigs  so  interlocked  and  interwoven  as  to 
form  an  impenetrable  green  thicket !  Yes,  sir!  And  I  have 
seen  bounding  through  these  forests  magnificent  deer,  sir ! 
— majestic  creatures  six  feet  high,  whose  splendid  antlers 
branched  ten  feet  apart!  Yes,  sir!"  exclaimed  the  Colo- 
nel, glancing  around  the  table. 

"  Wonderful  ! " 

"Amazing! " 

"  Stupendous ! " 

So  exclaimed  all  the  gentlemen  at  the  table,  with  the 
exception  of  Captain  Faulkner,  who  was  in  one  of  his  most 
reckless,  jolly  and  chaffing  moods,  and  who  now  pursed  up 
his  lips  and  gave  vent  to  a  long,  low,  offensive — 

"Whee-ew!" 

Colonel  Brierly,  quarrelsome  as  usual  when  in  his  cups, 
turned  fiercely  upon  him  and  demanded  : 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  that,  sir  ?  " 

"  Oh,  nothing  particular,"  answered  the  Captain,  laugh- 
ing. 

"  Death,  sir !  Do  you  mean  to  doubt  my  word  ? "  de- 
manded the  Colonel  in  a  loud  voice,  and  with  a  heightened 
color. 

"  Oh,  no,  certainly  not.  I  never  doubt  a  gentleman's 
word,"  replied  the  Captain,  with  a  very  questionable  laugh, 
that  infuriated  the  Colonel. 

"  Then,  if  you  do  not  mean  to  impugn  my  veracity,  sir, 
what  the  devil  do  you  mean?  I  insist  upon  knowing!" 
exclaimed  the  Colonel. 

"Oh,  well,  if  you  must  know,"  coolly  returned  the  Cap- 
tain, "  I  was  but  wondering  how  the  deuce  those  majestic 
deer,  with  antlers    branching   ten  feet   wide,  managed  to 
5 


82  A      NOBLE      LORD. 

bound  through  those  magnificent  forests  where  the  titanic 
oak-trees  stand  but  three  feet  opart." 

For  a  moment  the  Colonel  was  dumbfounded,  and  then  he 
exclaimed  : 

"  By  Jupiter,  sir,  that  was  their  business — not  mine,  or 
yours ! " 

A  laugh  at  this  retort  went  round  the  table. 

"  You  have  him  there,  Brierly,"  said  one. 

"  Ah,  yes,  he  has  you  there,  Faulkner,"  said  another. 

"  So  much  for  asking  inconvenient  questions,  old  fellow," 
added  a  third. 

The  good-natured  good-for-nothing  laughed  with  the  rest, 
and  soon  forgot  the  little  contest. 

Not  so  Colonel  Brierly ;  he  never  either  forgot  or  forgave 
it;  though,  at  the  separation  of  the  supper  party  and  the 
departure  of  his  guests,  he  received  the  adieus  of  Captain 
Faulkner  as  politely  as  he  received  those  of  the  other  gen- 
tlemen. 

And  the  two  boon  companions  met  as  usual,  three  or  four 
evenings  out  of  every  week. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

THE    DUEL. 

Indeed,  at  last,  close  scrutiny  must  show 

A  duel  cowardly,  and  mefln  arid  low  ; 

And  men  engaged  in  it  compelled  by  force. 

And  fear,  not  courage  as  its  proper  source  : 

The  fear  of  tyrant  custom,  and  the  foar 

.l.otit  knaves  should  censure  and  lest  fools  should  sneer. 

It.  is  to  trnmiJle  on  our  Maker's  laws, 

To  hazard  life  for  any  such  ill  cause. — COWPER. 

AT  length  the  opportunity  offered  itself  to  Colonel  Brierly 
to  take  his  revenge,  and  he  took  it. 

The  occasion  was  another  little  supper,  given  by  a  literary 
Bohemiam  at  the  Red  Lion  Inn,  Strand. 


T  H  E      D  U  E  L.  83 

There  were  about  half  a  dozen  gentlemen  present,  among 
whom  was  Colonel  Brierly.  The  supper  was  over,  and  the 
wine  was  circulating  very  freely,  when  Brierly  proposed  a 
game  of  loo. 

The  table  was  immediately  cleared,  and  the  cards  were 
brought. 

About  three  rounds  had  been  played,  with  more  or  less 
luck  to  each  player,  and  the  cards  were  dealt  for  the  fourth 
round,  and  the  usual  question  : 

"  What  do  you  do  ?  "  was  asked  of  each  player  in  succes- 
sion. 

"  I  take  '  miss,'  "  answered  Colonel  Brierly  when  the 
question  came  to  him. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  but  I  have  taken  '  miss,' "  said 
Captain  Faulkner,  whose  turn  was  before  that  of  Colonel 
Brierly. 

"Why  didn't  you  say  that  before,  then  ?  It  is  too  late 
now,"  said  the  Colonel,  taking  up  the  "miss"  cards,  and 
putting  down  his  own. 

"  Colonel  Brierly,"  said  the  astonished  Captain,  "  I  did 
say  that  I  would  take  it." 

The  Colonel  contemptuously  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  I  tell  you,  sir,  that  I  did  say  I  would  take  it,"  repeated 
the  Captain,  flushing  to  his  temples. 

"  Did  any  gentleman  hear  Captain  Faulkner  say  that  he 
would  take  '  miss  ?  '  "  inquired  the  Colonel,  with  a  tone  and 
manner  intensely  insulting  to  the  Captain. 

« I  did  not." 

"  Nor  I,"  answered  several. 

"  Did  any  one  ?  "  persisted  the  Colonel. 

It  appeared  that  no  one  had  heard  the  Captain  declare  for 
"  miss,"  though  several  suggested  that  the  Captain  might 
have  spoken,  though  the}'  had  not  heard  him. 

"  There,  you  see,  sir,  your  assertion  is  unsupported. 
None  of  these  gentlemen  heard  you  say  that  you  would  take 
'  miss/  "  sneered  the  Colonel. 


84  A      NOBLE     LORD. 

"  Colonel  Brierly,"  said  Captain  Faulkner,  his  face 
deepty  flushing,  "  do  you  venture  to  express  a  doubt  of  my 
veracity  ?  " 

"  I  do." 

"  SIR  !  "  exclaimed  the  Captain,  changing  color. 

"I  do  most  distinctly  assert  that  I  doubt  your  veracity, 
Captain  Faulkner,"  scornfully  repeated  the  Colonel. 

A  murmur  of  disapprobation  passed  around  the  table. 

"  Colonel  Brierly,  there  is  but  one  answer  a  gentleman 
can  make  you,"  said  Captain  Faulkner,  turning  deadly  pale, 
as  he  threw  down  his  cards,  arose  and  left  the  table. 

"  Let  him  go,"  said  the  Colonel  defiantly.  "  And  now, 
gentlemen,  to  our  game.  I  take  'miss.'  Fitz-John,  it  is 
your  lead." 

"  Thanks.  I  shall  not  play,"  said  Fitz-John,  an  innocent 
young  Bohemian  enough,  but  with  a  lion's  heart  to  back  a 
friend,  and  he  laid  down  his  cards,  left  the  table  and  follow- 
ed Faulkner,  whom  he  considered  to  have  been  insulted 
without  just  cause. 

He  overtook  the  Captain  in  the  hall  outside. 

"  Faulkner,  you  have  been  grossly  and  unwarrantably  in- 
sulted. Brierly  is  a  bully  and  a  coward.  And  whatever 
you  mean  to  do,  I  am  with  you,"  he  said,  drawing  the  Cap- 
tain's arm  within  his  own. 

"  Thanks,  my  dear  Fritz.  I  knew  you  would  be  with  me, 
and  I  meant  to  have  sent  for  you.  Thanks,  dear  old  fellow, 
for  your  prompt  anticipation  of  my  wishes,"  said  the  Captain 
with  emotion. 

"  What  do  you  intend  to  do?"  inquired  the  young  man. 

"My  dear  Fitz,  what  but  one  thing  can  a  gentleman  do 
under  such  circumstances  ?  Come  with  me  into  the  coffee- 
room.  We  can  find  a  private  corner  somewhere  there  at  this 
hour,"  replied  the  Captain. 

They  went  together  to  the  coffee-room  and  found  a  table 
in  a  box,  at  which  they  sat  down. 


T  H  E      D  U  E  L.  85 

Captain  Faulkner  called  for  writing  materials,  which  were 
supplied  to  him. 

"  You  will  go  to  the  scoundrel  on  my  part,  my  dear  Fitz- 
John,  and  demand  from  him  a  retraction  of  his  words,  and 
a  public  apology  for  the  public  insult  he  has  offered  me. 
Should  he  refuse,  then  demand  from  him  the  last  and  only 
satisfaction  he  can  give  me.  That  he  dare  not  refuse." 

"No,  the  miscreant!  because  he  knows  he  is  a  dead 
shot,"  thought  the  young  man,  as  he  went  away  upon  his 
errand. 

Captain  Faulkner  called  for  cigars,  and  sat  smoking  and 
waiting  for  the  return  of  his  messenger. 

Half  an  hour  passed,  and  then  Fitz-John  returned,  and 
reseated  himself  at  the  table  looking  very  grave. 

"  Well,"  inquired  the  Captain. 

"  The  scoundrel  is  stupid  and  stubborn.  He  absolutely 
refused  to  retract  his  words,  although  every  man  at  the  table, 
with  one  exception,  entreated  him  to  do  so,"  replied  Fitz- 
John. 

"  The  villain  !  I  expected  this.  Of  course  you  told  him 
of  the  only  other  alternative  ?  " 

"  No,  I  did  not.  I  am  with  you,  as  I  said,  Faulkner,  and 
whatever  you  do  I  will  see  you  through  it.  But  I  thought, 
before  giving  your  challenge,  I  would  come  back  to  you  once 
more.  You  have  a  wife  and  children,  Faulkner,  and — that 
infernal  rascal  is  a  dead  shot,"  said  j'ouug  Fitz-John  very 
gravely. 

"  I  know,  I  know.  Poor  Molly  !  poor  babes.  But  a 
man's  honor  should  be  dearer  to  him  than  wife  or  children, 
Fitz-John.  You  will  therefore  take  my  challenge  to  that 
fellow,  and  ask  him  to  name  some  gentleman  on  his  own 
part  to  act  with  you  in  arranging  the  details  of  the  meeting." 

Young  Fitz-John  once  more  entreated  the  Captain  to 
consider  well  before  going  further  in  an  affair  of  so  grave  a 
character. 


86  ANOBLELORD. 

But  Faulkner  was  firm  of  purpose. 

"  You  know,"  he  said,  "  that  I  am  no  professed  duellist ; 
so  far  from  being  one,  I  have  never  in  my  life  been  engaged, 
either  as  principal  or  second,  in  any  hostile  meeting.  Be- 
sides, I  love  my  wife  arid  children — "  Here  the  Captain's 
voice  broke  down,  and  his  face  turned  pale.  "  But  a  man 
cannot  pass  over  an  insult  such  as  I  have  received.  You 
know  it,  Fitz-John.  Now  go,  good  fellow,  and  deliver  my 
challenge." 

"  To  the  worst  man  and  the  best  shot  in  England  ! " 
sighed  the  young  man,  as  he  went  upon  his  fatal  errand. 

Captain  Faulkner  lighted  another  cigar,  and  smoked  and 
waited.  He  waited  a  full  hour,  at  the  end  of  which  Fitz- 
John  once  more  entered  the  box,  and  seated  himself  at  the 
table,  looking  even  graver  than  before. 

"  Is  it  arranged  ?  "  inquired  Faulkner,  in  a  low  voice. 

"  Yes,"  replied  Fitz-John.  "  Do  you  know  a  place  called 
the  Devil's  Dyke,  down  on  the  south  coast,  near  Brighton  ?" 

The  Captain  burst  into  a  loud,  harsh  laugh. 

Fitz-John  looked  shocked  and  inquisitive. 

"  I  was  only  thinking  what  a  deuced  appropriate  name 
that  is  for  the  ground  upon  which  a  duel  is  to  be  fought,  if 
it  is  the  ground.  Is  it  ?  " 

"  It  is  the  ground.  It  is  a  solitary  place,  well  suited  to 
the  work." 

"  <  Excellently  well.'  " 

"  The  weapons  to  be  used  are  pistols.  We  are  to  leave 
town  quietly,  by  the  midnight  express,  for  Brighton  ;  on 
our  arrival,  to  take  rooms  at  the  '  Ship'  hotel ;  and  at  five 
o'clock  to-morrow  morning — an  hour  when  the  spot  is  sure 
to  be  deserted,  and  the  tide  low — we  are  to  meet  on  the 
sands  below  the  Dyke." 

"And  should  there  be  a  fatal  termination  to  the  duel,  the 
survivors  can  easily  reach  New  Haven  in  time  to  take  the 
early  boat  for  Dieppe,  and  thus  escape,"  added  the  Captain. 


T  H  E      D  U  E  L.  87 

"  Yes ;  that  has  been  thought  of  in  the  selection  of  the 
spot,"  said  Intz-John. 

"  What  is  the  hour,  old  fellow  ?  "  inquired  the  Captain. 

"A  quarter  to  eleven." 

"  We  have  just  an  hour  and  a  quarter  left  before  we  must 
catch  the  train.  That  leaves  me  about  three  quarters  of 
an  hour  in  which  to  settle  up  all  my  worldly  affairs,  sup- 
posing I  had  any  affairs  to  settle,  which  I  haven't.  I  have 
only  to  write  to  Molly — poor  Molly !  and  poor  babies  !  But 
old  Melliss,  when  I  am  gone,  will  take  much  better  care  of 
them  than  ever  I  could  have  done ;  for  he  only  hated  me," 
said  the  Captain,  with  a  deep  sigh,  as  he  drew  writing 
materials  before  him. 

He  wrote  but  a  short  letter  to  his  wife,  but  it  took  him  a 
long  time  to  finish  it ;  for  he  frequently  paused  and  sighed, 
as  he  told  her  of  the  insult  he  had  received  from  Colonel 
Brierly,  and  the  obligation  that  rested  on  him,  as  a  man  of 
honor,  to  demand  satisfaction.  He  begged  her  forgiveness 
for  all  he  had  caused  her  to  suffer,  and  recommended  her,  in 
case  of  his  death,  to  seek  the  protection  of  her  father  for 
herself  and  her  young  family.  He  concluded  with  sending 
tender  messages  to  his  children,  and  he  signed  himself  her 
"  Poor  Charley." 

In  a  postscript  he  begged  her,  if  she  could  possibly  avoid 
it,  not  to  prosecute  Benny. 

H*e  folded,  sealed  and  directed  this  letter,  and  gave  it  in 
charge  of  Eitz-John,  saying  : 

"  If  I  should  fall,  Fitz,  you  will  take  this  to  my  poor  wife 
at  Sydenham,  and  deliver  it  yourself." 

"  Yes,  certainly.  But  let  us  look  forward  to  a  more 
righteous  end." 

"After  giving  that  letter  to  my  wife,  you  will  call  on  Mr. 
Melliss,  the  great  banker,  who  lives  in  Charles  street.  Tell 
him  that  his  good-for-nothing  son-in-law  is  killed  off  out 
of  his  way,  and  ask  him,  in  Christian  charity,  to  look  after 


88  A      NOBLE     LORD. 

his  widowed  daughter  and  orphaned  grandchildren.     Will 
you  promise  me  that,  Fitz-John  ?  " 

"  Yes,  certainly  ;  I  promise  to  do  that,  if  it  should  be 
necessary :  but  it  will  not  be  necessary.  We  do  not  mean 
to  have  any  widows  or  orphans  in  the  case,  or  anybody 
killed  out  of  anybody's  way.  We  intend  only  to  wing  our 
scoundrelly  antagonist,  to  teach  him  to  keep  a  civil  tongue 
in  his  head,  that's  all,"  said  the  young  man,  speaking  more 
cheerfully  than  he  felt. 

"  I  believe  that  is  all  I  have  to  say  now,  Fitz.  And  it 
must  be  nearly  time  for  us  to  be  off." 

"  Very  nearly.  The  carriage  was  ordered  at  half  past 
eleven  to  take  us  to  the  station,  and  it  wants  but  five  min- 
utes to  that  time,"  said  Fitz-John. 

And  even  as  he  spoke,  a  servant  came  in  and  announced 
the  carriage. 

Both  gentlemen  arose,  took  their  hats  and  went  out  as 
upon  an  ordinary  journey. 

They  reached  the  London  Bridge  station  in  time  to  catch 
the  train  for  Brighton.  This  train  was  the  last  for  the  night, 
and  it  stopped  at  Sydenham.  It  was  the  train  by  which 
Captain  Faulkner  usually  returned  home,  after  spending  the 
evening  out.  He  thought  of  that  now,  as  he  went  up  to  the 
ticket  office  and  took  tickets  for  himself  and  his  friend.  He 
thought  of  it  as  he  passed  Colonel  Brierly  and  his  second, 
who  were  standing  on  the  platform,  waiting  for  a  guard  to 
give  them  a  first-class  carriage. 

By  the  judicious  administration  of  half  a  crown  to  the 
guard,  Captain  Faulkner  secured  a  coupe  for  himself  and 
friend. 

They  had  scarcely  got  seated  when  the  train  started. 

Captain  Faulkner  felt  as  if  he  were  going  home  as  usual, 
to  his  wife  and  children.  He  could  scarcely  realize  that  he 
was  going  to  fight  a  duel. 

Very  soon  the  train  ran  down  to  Sydenham,  which  w\s 
the  first  station,  blew  the  signal,  and  stopped. 


T  H  E      D  U  E  L.  89 

Captain  Faulkner  arose,  as  if  to  get  out  as  usual ;  then 
recollecting  himself,  he  sank  back  in  his  seat  with  a  groan. 
Then  a  sudden  impulse  seized  him  to  jump  from  the  coupe 
to  the  platform,  and  hurry  home  through  fields  and  lanes 
now  rich  in  Autumn's  beauty,  home  to  his  cozy  cottage  and 
lovely  wife  and  little  children,  and  to  leave  Colonel  Brierly 
to  go  to  the  Devil's  Dyke,  or  the  Devil  himself,  alone. 

But  the  train  started,  and  his  fate  was  sealed. 

In  due  time  it  ran  in  to  the  Brighton  station,  where  a  few 
cabs  were  still  waiting  to  take  late  travellers  to  their  desti- 
nations. 

Captain  Faulkner  and  Mr.  Fitz-John  took  a  cab  between 
them  to  the  "Ship"  hotel,  where  they  were  followed  by 
Colonel  Brierly,  his  second  and  the  surgeon,  in  another  cab. 

The  whole  party  ordered  rooms,  and  soon  retired. 

Captain  Faulkner  and  Fitz-John  took  a  double-bedded 
room  between  them,  and  then  feed  a  waiter  to  bring  them 
coffee  at  five  in  the  morning,  and  also  to  order  a  cab  fcr  that 
hour. 

These  arrangements  having  been  made,  Mr.  Fitz-John 
would  have  persuaded  his  principal  to  lie  down ;  but  the 
Captain  said  that  ho  wished  to  write  another  letter,  and 
begged  that  his  second  would  lie  down  and  leave  him  to 
himself. 

Fitz-John  then  threw  off  his  coat  and  laid  down  on  the 
outside  of  his  bed,  meaning  to  watch  with  his  principal. 
But  fatigue  soon  overcame  him,  and  he  slept  soundly. 

Captain  Faulkner  sat  down  to  write  his  second  letter. 
This  was  to  Mr.  Melliss.  ISTow  that  he  was  so  near  an 
event  that  might  terminate  his  earthly  existence,  "poor 
Charley"  was  forced  into  a  stricter  self-examination  than  he 
had  ever  instituted  before.  For  the  first  time  he  felt  re- 
inoree  for  having  first  "stolen  the  old  man's  daughter/'  and 
then  brought  her  and  her  children  to  such  misery. 

He  wrote  to  Mr.  Meiliss  as  he  felt,  as  a  dying  man ;  tell- 


90  A      NOBLE      LORD. 

ing  him  that  in  his  present  crisis,  when  all  the  seriousness 
of  life  and  death  weighed  upon  his  spirit,  he  felt,  for  the 
firet  time,  the  enormity  of  his  pin,  and  would,  if  possible, 
atone  for  it.  He  begged  the  bereaved  and  outraged  father 
to  forgive  him,  and  to  forgive  his  wife,  the  erring  daughter. 
He  said  he  did  not  ask  that  father  to  protect  his  widosvi-d 
daughter  and  her  orphan  children,  because  he  knew  that 
father  would  do  so.  And  he  ended,  as  he  had  begun,  by 
entreating  forgiveness. 

He  folded,  sealed  and  directed  this  letter,  and  laid  it 
aside  to  give  to  Fitz-John  in  the  morning. 

Then  he  threw  himself  on  his  bed,  not  expecting  to  sleep. 
Yet  sleep  soon  overtook  him,  and  he  slept  until  he  was 
aroused  by  the  knocking  at  his  door. 

He  and  his  friend  sprang  up  at  the  same  moment. 
Fitz-John  opened  the  door,  and  found  the  waiter. 
"  If  you  please,  sir,  it  is  five  o'clock.     Here  is  the  coffee, 
and  the  cab  is  waiting,"  said  the  waiter. 

"All  right.     Bring  the  tray  in  and  put  it  on  the  table, 
and  let  the  cab  wait,"  said  Fitz-John. 
"  Yes,  sir.     Any  farther  orders  ?  " 
"  No.     I'll  ring  if  I  want  anything." 
The  waiter  touched  his  forehead  and  went  out. 
"  Come,  Faulkner.     Douse  your  head  into  a  basin  of  cold 
water,  dry  it  with  a  coarse  towel,  brush  your  hair  and  come 
to  coffee.     We  can  breakfast  when  we  return,"  said  Fitz- 
John,  as  he  cheerfully  set  the  example  of  making  a  hasty 
toilet. 

"  Yes,  when  we  return  !  "  sighed  Captain  Faulkner. 
Then  he  took  the  second  letter  from  the  table  and  gave  it 
to  Fitz-John,  saying: 

"  Fitz,  I  feel  now  as  if  I  would  like  to  be  at  peace  with 
all  the  world,  even  with  my  unrelenting  old  father-in-law. 
Yes,  even  with  that  wretched  man  who  is  thirsting  for  my 
blood  this  morning,  and  only  because  I  happened  to  turn 


T  H  E      D  U  E  L.  91 

one  of  his  boasting  stories  into  ridicule ;  for  that  is  the  real 
origin  of  this  duel,  Fitz !  Well,  wishing  to  be  in  charity 
with  all  mankind,  I  have  written  to  ni}'  father-in-law.  This 
is  the  letter.  In  case  I  should  fall,  will  you  take  it  to 
him?" 

"  I  will.  But  come  now,  none  of  that !  Take  your  coffee 
and  brace  up  !"  said  Fitz-John  encouragingly. 

They  sat  down  to  the  little  table  and  drank  two  or  three 
cups  of  coffee  each. 

Then  they  took  their  hats  and  went  down  and  got  into 
their  cab,  and  directed  the  cabman  to  drive  to  the  "  Devil's 
Dyke." 

"  And  not  over  the  downs,  but  by  the  beach,"  said  Fitz- 
Jolm. 

"But  the  tide,  sir,"  suggested  the  cabman. 

"  Oh,  it  is  ebbtide  now.  It  will  be  low  tide  by  the  time 
we  get  there.  And  we  shall  return  before  the  tide  turns. 
Go  on." 

The  cabman  touched  his  hat  and  went  on. 

A  strange  weird  drive  of  death  was  that  through  the  gray 
of  the  autumn  morning,  along  the  sands  of  the  seashore ; 
on  one  side  the  beetling  rocks,  on  the  other  the  rolling  sea. 
And  a  long  ride  it  seemed,  considering  the  distance ;  but  at 
length  they  neared  the  spot. 

Fitz-John  ordered  the  cabman  to  stop.  And  he  and 
Faulkner  alighted,  taking  their  pistol-case  with  them. 

Fitz-Johu  directed  the  cabman  to  wait  there.  And  then 
he  drew  the  arm  of  his  principal  within  his  own,  and  they 
both  walked  on  toward  the  duelling  ground. 

They  reached  the  foot  of  that  yawning  chasm  known  as 
the  Devil's  Dyke,  and  found  themselves  alone  there. 

"The  other  party  has  not  come  up,"  said  Faulkner. 

"No.  I  am  glad  of  it.  I  am  glad  that  we  are  the  first 
upon  the  ground,"  said  Fitz-John. 

But    even  as   he    spoke,  they  discovered   three   persons 


92  ANOBLELORD. 

approaching  from  an  opposite  direction,  and  whom  they 
soon  recognized  as  Col.  Brierly,  his  second  Mr.  Aiken,  and 
the  surgeon. 

They  lifted  their  hats  as  they  approached,  and  our  friends 
courteously  acknowledged  the  greeting. 

The  seconds  —  Mr.  Fitz-John  on  the  part  of  Captain 
Faulkner,  and  Mr.  Aiken  on  that  of  Colonel  Brierly — pro- 
ceeded to  step  cff  the  ground  and  place  their  principals. 

They  planted  their  men  ten  feet  apart,  standing  sideways 
toward  each  other,  with  their  backs  to  the  downs,  their  faces 
towards  the  sea. 

The  seconds  then  retired. 

An  instant  afterward  Aiken  gave  the  signal. 

"  One,  two,  three.     Fire  !  " 

At  the  fatal  word  both  antagonists  wheeled  around  and 
fired. 

Captain  Faulkner  sprang  into  the  air,  fell  forward  upon 
his  face,  and  lay  motionless. 

Colonel  Brierly,  who  was  unhurt,  forgetting  all  the 
"points  of  honor,"  threw  away  his  pistol  and  ran  towards 
his  fallen  foe. 

But  Fitz-John  and  Aiken  had  reached  the  fatal  spot 
before  him. 

Fitz-John  had  raised  the  head  of  the  fallen  man  upon 
his  knee. 

"  My  friend  is  dead  !  "  he  groaned.  "  Fly,  and  save  your- 
self, Colonel  Brierly. 


AFTER  THE   FATAL   DUEL.         93 

CHAPTER  IX. 

AFTER   THE   FATAL   DUEL. 

Since  ill-respected  honor  bade  me  on, 

1  held  as  little  counsel  with  weak  fear 

As  you.     What  I  did,  I  did  in  honor, 

Led  by  the  impartial  conduct  of  my  soul ; 

And  never  shall  you  see  that  1  will  beg 

A  ragged  and  forestalled  remission. — SHAKESPEARE. 

"  BEIEKLY,  we  must  fly  !  There  is  not  a  single  instant 
to  lose !  The  cab  still  waits.  We  must  take  it  and  drive 
like  the  very  demon,  if  we  wish  to  get  to  New  Haven  in 
time  to  take  the  boat  to  Dieppe!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Aiken, 
Colonel  Brierly's  second,  speaking  in  great  excitement. 

"By  my  soul,  I'm  ver}r  sorry  for  this  !  Is  he  dead?  Are 
you  quite  sure?"  anxiously  inquired  the  Colonel,  of  the 
surgeon,  who  was  kneeling  down  beside  the  body  of  poor 
Faulkner. 

"  He  is  quite  dead,"  answered  the  surgeon. 

"  Brierly,  we  can  do  no  good  here.  We  shall  all  be  in  a 
devil  of  a  mess,  if  we  don't  clear  out ! "  urged  Aiken. 

4'  I  know  it !  By ,  I  never  was  so  sorry  for  anything 

in  my  life  !  " 

"  Sorrow  '11  do  no  good  now.  Save  yourself!"  said 
Aiken,  taking  the  Colonel's  arm  and  hurrying  him  off  the 
ground. 

Then  seeing  that  young  Fitz-John  still  lingered,  looking 
upon  his  fallen  friend,  he  called  to  him  : 

"  Come,  Fitz  !  Heaven  and  earth  !  Come  !  We  can 
wait  no  longer  for  you." 

"  Go,  then.     I  have  a  duty  to  do  here  !  "  said  Fitz-John. 

"  Man  !  you'll  have  duties  to  do  in  the  Pentonville  Peni- 
tentiary. Do  you  know  what  we  have  been  doing  will  be 
construed  felony  by  the  law,  and  that  it  is  punishable  by 
imprisonment  and  penal  servitude  ?  " 


94  ANOBLELORD. 

The  young  man  started!  "Imprisonment!"  "Penal 
servitude  !  "  Horrible  fate  !  More  horrible  than  death  ! 
And  had  he  really  made  himself  liable  to  such  degradation  ? 

He  could  have  braved  pain  or  death  for  the  sake  of  re- 
maining by  the  body  of  his  fallen  friend;  but  not  imprison- 
ment !  not  penal  servitude  ! 

He  cast  a  look  of  sorrow  and  remorse  upon  the  face  of 
the  dead  man,  and  then  hastily  followed  the  others. 

They  found  the  cabs  waiting  where  they  had  left  them. 

He  thought  of  the  letters  in  his  pocket,  and  of  the  sol- 
emn promise  he  had  made  his  friend,  to  deliver  them  to 
their  destination  in  the  event  of  his  death  ;  but — impris- 
onment! penal  servitude!  disgrace!  He  could  not  meet 
that. 

"  I  will  send  the  letters  by  mail.  That  will  do  quite  as 
well,"  he  said  to  himself. 

And  he  entered  the  cab,  ordered  the  cabman  to  drive 
to  New  Haven,  and  promised  him  a  guinea  over  and  above 
In's  fare  if  he  would  get  him  there  in  time  to  take  the  boat 
for  Dieppe. 

The  other  cab  was  already  far  ahead. 

His  cab  bowled  along  as  if  life  depended  on  its  speed. 

In  a  word,  both  cabs  reached  New  Haven  in  good  time, 
and  the  survivors  of  the  fatal  duel  embarked  upon  the  carty 
boat  for  Dieppe,  and  made  good  their  escape  to  France. 

Meanwhile  poor  Molly  Faulkner  had  passed  a  restless  and 
anxious  night  at  her  home  in  Woodbine  Cottage.  She  had 
eat  up  to  a  very  late  hour  waiting  for  her  "  poor  Charley." 

She  had  heard  train  after  train  blow  the  signal  whistle, 
as  it  slowed  and  stopped  at  the  Sydenham  station.  And  as 
each  in  turn  came  on  and  stopped,  she  had  said  to  herself: 

"There  he  is  now!"  And  she  had  waited  ten  or  fifteen 
minutes,  and  then  sighed  and  said  to  herself: 

"  He  didn't  come  by  that  train ;  but  he  will  come  by  the 
next." 


AFTER   THE   FATAL   DUEL.         95 

At  length,  however,  the  twelve  midnight  train  from  Lon- 
don came  shrieking.  She  thought  he  was  on  that  train 
certainly,  for,  after  all,  that  was  the  train  he  usually  came 
down  on. 

And  he  was  on  that  train,  as  we  know,  but  he  was  also  on 
his  way  down  to  Brighton  to  fight  that  duel. 

When  the  train  started  again,  shrieking  out  of  the  sta- 
tion on  its  way,  poor  Molly  sat  and  watched  and  listened, 
expecting  every  moment  to  hear  the  familiar,  welcome 
sound  of  her  Charley's  footsteps  coming  down  the  lane,  and 
the  pleasant  click  of  the  gate  latch  that  always  announced 
his  arrival  at  home. 

She  watched  ten,  fifteen,  twenty  minutes,  and  did  not 
even  then  give  him  up. 

"  He  may  have  met  some  friend  at  the  station,  and,  late 
as  it  is,  stopped  to  talk  to  him.  Poor  Charley  is  the  very 
mischief  for  talking,  both  in  season  and  out  of  season,"  she 
said  to  herself,  and  she  waited  five,  ten,  fifteen  minutes 
more.  And  then  her  courage  broke  down. 

Charley  had  not  come  home  by  that  train,  and  now  it  was 
certain  that  he  would  not  come  home  that  night,  for  there 
would  be  no  other  train  until  morning. 

Watching,  suspense,  anxiety,  and  finally  disappointment, 
completely  overwhelmed  her  spirits.  She  also  felt  horribly 
lonesome  and  sorrowful.  She  felt  that  she  must  see  some 
one,  speak  to  some  one,  or  die. 

The  clock  struck  one,  with  a  preternaturally  loud  detona- 
tion. 

She  jumped  up  from  her  seat  by  the  front  window,  and 
walked  rapidly  into  the  nursery,  where  her  sleeping  children 
lay.     She  looked  at  them  in  their  little  beds,  and  then  went 
on  to  the  cot  occupied  by  her  young  nurse,  Bessy  Morriss. 
"  Bessy  !  Bessy  !  "  she  said,  gently  shaking  her. 
"  Yes,  ma'am  !     Please,  the  baby's  all  right,"  answered 
the  girl,  half  asleep. 


96  A      N  O  H  L  E      L  O  R  D. 

"  Bessy  !  Bessy !  I'm  sick  to  death.  I'm  so  nervous  I 
could  scream.  Wake  up  !  " 

"Law,  ma'am!  Whatever  have  happened?"  cried  the 
girl,  now  thoroughly  aroused. 

"Nothing  has  happened  that  I  know  of,  except  that  the 
last  train  from  London  has  gone  by  an  hour  ago,  and  Cap- 
tain Faulkner  has  not  come  in." 

"  Law,  ma'am  !  he  have  missed  the  train,  that's  all,"  said 
the  girl  consolingly. 

"  Yes,  I  suppose  that  is  all.     But,  oh,  I'm  so  nervous  !  " 

"  That's  along  of  sitting  up  so  late,  ma'am.  Please,  I 
think  you'd  hetter  go  to  hed,  ma'am,  and  sleep  it  off.  The 
time  passes  quick  in  sleep,  so  it  do,  ma'am,  and  before  you'll 
know  it,  the  morning  will  be  here,  and  the  Captain  too." 

"Yes;  probably.  At  least,  I  think  your  advice  very 
good,  and  1  will  follow  it,"  said  Mrs.  Faulkner. 

And  good  little  Bessy,  though  it  was  no  part  of  her  duty 
to  do  so,  slipped  out  of  bed  and  helped  her  mistress  to  un- 
dress, and  waited  affectionately  on  her  until  she  retired  to 
rest. 

And  poor  Mollie  Faulkner,  ignorant  of  the  trouble  in 
store  for  her,  fell  asleep,  and  for  the  remainder  of  the  night 
slept  well. 

She  slept  until  very  late  in  the  morning. 

The  young  nurse  arose  at  the  usual  hour,  and  dressed  the 
children  as  quietly  as  she  could,  that  they  might  not  dis- 
turb their  weary  mother. 

Mrs.  Faulkner  continued  to  sleep  until  near  noon.  Then 
she  woke  up,  and  finding  how  late  it  was,  immediately  rang 
her  bell,  which  was  answered  by  the  little  nurse. 

'•  What  did  you  let  me  sleep  so  long  for,  Bessy?  Why 
didn't  you  wake  me  up  as  soon  as  the  Captain  came, 
home?"  she  inquired. 

"Please,  ma'am,  the  Capting  haven't  come  home  yet; 
and  I  let  you  sleep  'cause  I  thought  you  wanted  of  it," 
8aid  the  little  nurse. 


AFTER  THE  FATAL   DUEL.         97 

"  The  Captain  not  come  home  yet ! "  echoed  Molty, 
turning  pale.  "Why,  do  you  see  what  o'clock  it  is  ?  It 
is  nearly  twelve,  noon  !  " 

"  I  know  it  be,  ma'am  ;  but  the  Capting  haven't  come." 

"  Oh,  my  Heaven !  my  Heaven !  what  keeps  him  ? 
What  can  have  happened  ?  "  exclaimed  Molly,  wringing 
her  hands. 

"  May  be,  ma'am,  he  were  at  one  of  the  Colonel's  suppers 
last  night,  and  is  enjoying  of  one  of  his  bad  'eadaches  to- 
day," suggested  the  little  girl. 

"  That  is  very,  very  likely,"  admitted  Moll}'. 

"  In  course  it  is,  ma'am.  You  know,  if  he  had  a  catched 
the  train  and  got  home,  he  would  'ave  'ad  'is  'eadache  here 
all  right.  But  as  he  missed  of  the  train  and  'ad  to  stop  in 
London  all  night,  he  got  caught  with  his  'eadache  in  town, 
and  can't  come  home  till  he  gets  better." 

"I  see!  Yes,  that  must  be  the  reason  of  his  absence. 
But  oh  !  these  irregularities  do  cost  me  so  much  anxiety  ! 
Oh,  Charley,  dear,  if  you  knew  how  much  trouble  you  give 
me,  you  wouldn't  do  it,  love  !  I'm  sure  you  wouldn't,"  sighed 
poor  Molly,  apostrophizing  her  absent  husband. 

"  I  told  cook  to  make  some  fresh  tea  and  cream  toast  for 
you,  ma'am.  Will  I  bring  it  up  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  no,  I  don't  care  !  Oh,  if  I  only  knew  where  in. 
all  London  my  poor  Charley  is  stopping,  I  would  go  to  him  ; 
but — in  all  London  !1'  sighed  Molly  hopelessly. 

"  You  may  depend,  ma'am,  if  so  be  he  were  sick  enough 
to  need  you,  he  would  find  somebody  to  send  for  you,"  said 
the  little  nurse  consolingly. 

"  Yes,  I  think  he  would,"  agreed  Molly. 

She  saw  no  reason  for  any  extraordinary  anxiety  now. 
She  reflected  how  often  her  erratic  Charley  had  caused  her 
the  deepest  anxiety  for  nothing.  She  was  refreshed  bj7  her 
sleep  besides,  and  so  she  was  the  more  fitted  to  be  patient. 

She  dressed  herself  as  usual  and  went  down  stairs,  ate 
6 


98  A      NOBLE      LORD. 

her  breakfast,  nursed  her  baby,  walked  in  the  garden, 
played  with  her  children  a  little,  and  then  came  back  into 
the  house  and  sat  down  to  her  needle-work,  to  wait  for  the 
hours  to  pass  that  would  bring  the  evening,  when  "  Char- 
ley," recovered  from  his  penal  "headache,"  should  return. 

Still,  though  she  waited  calmly,  she  could  not  dismiss  all 
anxiety  from  her  mind.  Vague  fears  tormented  her  at 
intervals. 

"  What  could  have  happened  to  him  ?  "  she  asked  her- 
self. 

"  Probably  a  headache,  after  a  revel !  But  possibly  an- 
other arrest  for  debt !  "  she  answered  to  herself. 

"Another  arrest  for  debt !  "  This  was  the  very  worst  she 
feared  for  him.  The  idea  of  such  a  calamity  as  death  in  a 
duel  never  once  entered  her  mind. 

"And  if  he  were  arrested  for  debt,  he  would  send  me 
word.  Oh  !  it  is  only  his  usual  wine  headache  that  has 
overtaken  him  in  London,  because  he  couldn't  catch  the 
last  train  last  night  and  get  home  in  time  to  have  it  here. 
But  oh  !  I  wish  he  would  come !  I  wish  I  knew  exactly 
where  he  was,  or  even  where  that  horrid  Colonel  Brierly 
could  be  found!  But  I  don't  know  anything  about  their 
haunts.  Oh,  my  poor  Charley,  how  much  trouble  you  do 
give  me,  my  dear  !  " 

So,  waiting,  sighing  and  gently  complaining,  Molly 
passed  the  day. 

Evening  came,  and  the  children  were  called  in  from  their 
piny  in  the  garden,  to  get  their  supper  of  milk  and  bread, 
and  to  be  put  to  bed. 

But  their  mother  interposed  on  this  occasion. 

"  I  don't  want  them  to  go  to  bed  until  their  father  comes 
in.  Remember  that  they  haven't  seen  him  since  yesterday 
morning.  Give  them  their  supper,  and  then  wash  and  dress 
them  nicely,  and  bring  them  in  here  to  wait  till  their  papa 
comes,"  she  said  to  the  young  nurse,  as  she  took  her  place 


AFTER   THE   FATAL  DUEL.         99 

at  the  front  parlor  window  to  wait  for  the  early  evening 
trains,  as  on  the  preceding  evening  she  had  watched  from 
her  bedroom  window  for  the  late  night  trains. 

After  a  while  the  children,  nicely  dressed,  and  delighted 
with  the  privilege  of  sitting  up  for  papa,  joined  her  there, 
and  half  distracted  her  mind  from  her  anxiety  with  their 
innocent  prattle. 

The  gas  was  lighted  in  the  parlor,  hour  after  hour  passed, 
train  after  train  came  shrieking  and  thundering  into  the 
station,  and  went  shrieking  and  thundering  out  again,  and 
still  he  came  not. 

Anxiety  was  just  beginning  to  be  insupportable  again, 
when  the  sound  of  carriage  wheels  was  heard  in  the  lane, 
approaching  the  house. 

"  That's  Charley,  at  last !  Poor  fellow  !  he  must  have 
been  quite  ill,  to  have  to  get  a  cab  to  come  from  the  station 
in  !  Children,  papa  has  come  !"  said  Molly,  jumping  up  as 
the  carriage  stopped  at  the  gate. 

But  at  that  moment  little  Lily  pulled  a  flower-stand  over 
on  herself,  and  her  mother  stopped  to  pick  both  up,  which 
occasioned  a  few  moments'  delay,  at  the  end  of  which  thr 
young  nurse,  Bessie  Morriss,  opened  the  door  and  naively 
announced  : 

"  A  lady  as  come  in  a  carriage  to  see  Mrs.  Faulkner." 

Molly  started  with  surprise.  A  lady  to  see  her!  Such 
a  very  unusual  circumstance  !  What  could  the  lady  want  ? 
And  at  such  an  hour  too  ?  Oh  !  she  must  be  some  one  come 
to  her  from  dear  Charley  !  Dear  Charley  was  too  ill  to 
come  home,  so  he  had  sent  for  her !  Or  else  he  was  arrested 
for  debt,  and  had  sent  for  her  all  the  same !  concluded  poor 
Molly,  as  a  spasm  of  terror  for  Charley's  safety  seized  her 
heart,  and  in  some  degree  prepared  her  for  what  she  had  to 
hear. 

All  this  occupied  but  an  instant  of  time. 

"Did  the  lady  give  her  name,  Bessie?"  inquired  Mrs. 
Faulkner. 


100  A      NOBLE     LORD. 

"No,  ma'aru.  When  I  asked  her  for  it,  she  said  I  need 
only  say  that  a  lady  wished  to  see  you." 

"  Where  have  you  shown  her  ?  " 

"  Please,  ma'am,  I  haven't  shown  her  anywheres.  She's 
standing  at  the  hall  door  yet." 

"  0  Bessie !  how  stupid  of  you  to  leave  any  lady  stand- 
ing at  the  hall  door!  Never  do  such  a  thing  again  !  Show 
her  in  at  once ! "  said  Mrs.  Faulkner  impatiently,  and 
trembling,  but  more  with  alarm  than  from  any  other  cause. 

The  little  nurse  retired  for  a  moment,  and  then  ushered 
in  the  visitor. 

Mrs.  Faulkner  turned,  and  saw  standing  before  her  a 
graceful  young  woman,  elegantly  dressed  in  black. 

The  lady  threw  aside  her  vail,  revealing  a  lovely  young 
face,  lighted  by  large  tender  hazel  eyes,  and  shaded  by 
golden-brown  curling  hair. 

"It  is  Fay  Darnmer  !"  cried  little  Lily. 

"  Fay-ee  Dammer !  "  exclaimed  Ada. 

"  Fairy  Grandma  !  "  said  Charley. 

And  the  three  children  ran  to  her  and  seized  her  skirts. 

"This  lady  is  our  Fairy  Grandmother,  mamma,"  ex- 
plained little  llary,  as  she  went  up  to  the  visitor  and 
demurely  offered  her  hand. 

Yes,  it  was  Angela  Melliss,  the  banker's  young  wife, 
Molly's  hated  step-mother,  the  children's  "  Fairy  Grand- 
mother." 

What  had  brought  her  here  ? 

We  must  go  back  and  see. 


BAD      NEWS      AT     CHARLES      STREET.       101 

CHAPTER  X. 

BAD   NEWS    AT    CHARLES    STREET. 

Can  honor  set  a  lep?    No.    Or  an  arm  ?    No. 

Or  take  away  the  grief  of  a  wound  ?    No.    °  °  8 

"Who  hath  it  ?    He  who  died  o'  Wednesday. 

Doth  he  feel  it?    No.    Doth  he  hear  it  ?    No. — SHAKESPEARE. 

ABOUT  three  hours  before  her  visit  to  Mrs.  Faulkner, 
Angela  Melliss  had  come  in  from  her  afternoon  drive,  and 
had  gone  to  her  room  to  dress  for  dinner. 

As  was  her  frequent  custom,  she  sat  down  before  her 
dressing-glass,  with  the  evening  paper  in  her  hand,  that  she 
might  look  over  it  while  her  maid  was  combing  her  hair. 

On  this  occasion,  while  glancing  down  the  columns  of 
the  paper,  she  suddenly  started,  and  hurriedly  exclaimed  : 

"Put  up  my  hair  in  any  sort  of  way,  Mary,  as  quickly  as 
you  can,  and  hand  me  my  dressing-gown.  This  is  most 
horrible  ! " 

"What  has  happened,  dear  Madam?  I  hope  nothing 
dreadful  has  happened,"  said  the  maid  impulsively,  as  she 
hastily  gathered  up  her  lady's  golden-brown  ringlets,  and 
put  them  into  a  net. 

Mrs.  Melliss  was  trembling  too  much  to  answer. 

She  drew  on  the  dressing-gown  handed  her  by  Mary,  nnd 
taking  the  paper  from  the  floor  where  it  had  dropped,  she 
hurried  with  it  to  her  husband's  room. 

The  banker  was  under  his  valet's  hands. 

"  Send  your  man  away,  Walter,  dear ;  I  must  speak  to 
you,"  said  Angela,  dropping  into  a  chair. 

"  Leave  the  room,  John,"  said  the  banker,  taking  the 
hair-brush  from  the  servant's  hand. 

"  Now  then,  what  is  it,  my  love  ?  "  he  inquired,  as  soon 
as  the  man  had  gone.  Then  seeing  how  pale  she  was,  he 
exclaimed:  "Good  Heaven,  Angela  !  what  has  happened?" 


102  A     NOBLE     LORD. 

"  Head  !  "  she  faltered,  laying  the  paper  before  him  on  the 
dressing-table,  and  pointing  to  a  certain  paragraph. 
The  banker  took  it  up  and  read  : 

"  A  SHOCKING  EVENT  NEAR  BRIGHTON. — Devil's  Dyke 
was,  early  this  morning,  the  scene  of  a  tragedy.  A  duel 
was  fought  on  the  spot  between  Colonel  Barrett  Brierly,  late 
of  the  Honorable  East  India  Company's  service,  and  Captain 
Charles  Faulkner,  late  of  the  Royal  Guards,  which  termin- 
ated fatally  in  the  case  of  Captain  Faulkner,  who,  at  the 
first  fire,  fell,  shot  through  the  heart,  and  died  instantly. 
The  surviving  principal  of  the  duel  and  the  two  seconds  suc- 
ceeded in  making  their  escape  to  France.  The  body  of  the 
unfortunate  Captain  Faulkner  is  tying  at  the  '  Ship,'  where 
an  inquest  was  held,  and  a  verdict  of  manslaughter  returned 
against  Barrett  Brierly  as  principal,  and  John  Fitz-John  and 
James  Aiken  as  accessories.  The  cause  of  this  hostile  and 
fatal  meeting  has  not  yet  transpired." 

The  banker  finished  reading  the  paragraph,  laid  down  the 
paper  and  looked  into  the  pale  face  of  his  young  wife. 

"  Where  is  his  widow  ?  You  know,  I  am  sure,  Angela," 
said  Mr.  Melliss,  speaking  with  forced  calmness. 

"  Yes,  I  know  where  she  is.  She  is  living  at  Sydenham," 
replied  Mrs.  Melliss,  in  a  low,  sorrowful  tone. 

"  Go,  then,  at  once,  my  love,  and  bring  her  and  her  chil- 
dren home.  Tell  her  I  forgive — "  His  voice  broke  down, 
and  his  frame  shook  as  with  an  ague  fit.  "  Tell  her  any- 
thing you  will,  my  love ;  but  if  she  has  not  heard  of  her 
husband's  dreadful  fate,  do  not  tell  her  that.  But  tell  her 
that  she  will  find  him  here.  I  should  rather  she  should  be 
here,  in  the  bosom  of  her  family,  when  she  meets  the  shock 
the  news  of  his  sudden  death  will  bring.  Go  to  her,  Angela. 
It  will  be  a  sorrowful  errand,  my  child,  but  you  will  perform 
it  well.  I  will  go  down  to  Brighton  by  the  next  train,  and 


BAD      NEWS      AT     CHARLES      STREET.       103 

see  to  the  removal  of  the  body.  The  funeral  must  take 
place  from  this  house,"  concluded  the  banker  as  he  rang  the 
bell. 

His  valet  answered  the  summons. 

"  Order  Mrs.  Melliss'  brougham  to  be  brought  around 
immediately,  and  send  one  of  the  grooms  to  fetch  a  fly  for 
me,"  said  Mr.  Melliss. 

And  the  man,  wondering  what  on  earth  was  the  matter, 
went  out  to  obey  his  master's  directions. 

"  I  will  go  and  get  ready  at  once,"  said  Mrs.  Melliss,  and 
she  arose  and  returned  to  her  own  room. 

She  quickly  dressed  herself  in  a  black  driving  dress,  and 
was  in  the  act  of  di'awing  on  her  gloves  whenfa  parlor  maid 
rapped  softly  at  the  door,  and  being  told  to  come  in,  entered 
and  said  : 

"  If  you  please,  ma'am,  cook  says  as  you  are  going  out  just 
as  dinner  is  ready  to  be  dished,  she  begs  to  know  your 
wishes  about  it." 

"  Oh  !  Never  mind  about  dinner,  Jane  !  I  cannot  think 
about  that  now!  Mary  Kempton,  go  and  use  your  judg- 
ment in  the  matter,"  said  the  lady. 

The  next  servant  who  came  to  the  door  announced  Mrs. 
Melliss'  brougham.  And  the  lady  being  quite  read}^  for  her 
drive,  went  down  stairs. 

She  found  her  husband  in  the  hall,  waiting  to  hand  her 
into  the  carnage. 

"  Be  very,  very  prudent  in  your  mission,  my  dear  Angela  ! 
If  it  be  possible,  do  not  even  permit  her  to  suspect  the 
calamity  that  has  befallen  her  until  she  is  safely  housed 
here,"  said  the  banker,  as  he  led  her  out. 

"  I  will  do  my  very  best,"  replied  his  wife,  as  he  placed 
her  in  her  carriage. 

His  own  ordered  fly  was  waiting.  And  his  servant  was 
standing  by  with  his  hat,  gloves  and  shawl. 

So  he  took  leave  of  his  wife,  closed  the  carriage  door,  and 
told  her  coachman  to  drive  to  Sydenham. 


104  A      NOBLE      LORD. 

Then  he  sprang  into  his  own  ordered  fly,  and  directed  the 
driver  to  go  at  his  utmost  speed  to  the  London  Bridge  Rail- 
way station.  promising»him  an  additional  fee  if  he  should 
catch  the  Brighton  express  train. 

The  fly  whirled  away  first. 

Mrs.  Melliss'  brougham  left  the  door. 

As  it  passed  out  of  Charles  street,  Mrs.  Melliss,  looking 
from  the  window,  saw  Rachel  Wood  turning  the  corner, 
with  a  parcel  of  work  in  her  hands,  which  she  was  bringing 
home. 

The  banker's  wife  immediately  pulled  the  check-string 
and  stopped  the  carriage,  and  beckoned  the  seamstress  to 
approach.  - 

Rachel  came  up  to  the  door,  which  the  footman  had 
already  opened  for  her. 

"  Oh,  Rachel,  my  good  girl,  I  am  so  fortunate  to  meet 
you!  Come  right  in  here  and  sit  by  me,  and  I  will  explain 
as  we  drive  along,"  said  the  lady. 

The  seamstress,  much  wondering,  got  into  the  carriage, 
and  took  her  seat  as  requested. 

"  Tell  the  coachman  to  drive  on,"  said  the  lady. 

And  the  footman  closed  the  door,  gave  the  order,  and 
resumed  his  place. 

"I  hope  you  have  the  evening  at  your  disposal,  Rachel, 
for  I  need  you  very  much  just  now,"  said  Mrs.  Melliss. 

"Yes,  madam.  I  have  completed  the  work  you  gave  me 
to  do,  and  I  was  bringing  it  home  when  you  called  me,  that 
is  all,"  said  Rachel. 

"Never  mind  the  work,  Rachel.  I  have  a  terrible  thing 
to  tell  you.  Captain  Faulkner  was  killed  in  a  duel  this 
morning,  and  I  am  on  my  way  to  Sydenhani,  to  bring  his 
poor  widow  home  to  her  father's  house,  before  breaking  the 
news  to  her,"  said  the  lady. 

The  seamstress  gazed  upon  the  speaker  in  silent  horror 
and  amazement. 


BAD      NEWS      AT      CHARLES      STREET.       105 

"Heaven  and  earth!  what  an  awful  calamity!  Oh,  how 
will  you  ever  tell  her?  "  at  length  exclaimed  Rachel. 

"How,  indeed?"  shuddered  Mrs.  Melliss. 

"When  did  you  hear  this  ?  How  did  you  hear  it  ?  "  in- 
quired Rachel. 

Mrs.  Melliss  told  Eachel  all  that  she  had  learned  from 
the  newspaper  paragraph. 

"  Oh,  Heaven  have  mercy  on  the  poor  widowed  wife  and 
orphaned  children  !  "  fervently  breathed  Rachel  Wood. 

"  Heaven  has  mercy  on  them,  for  the  heart  of  the 
grandfather  is  moved  to  send  for  them  and  bring  them 
home,"  said  Mrs.  Melliss. 

And  then  she  told  Rachel  all  that  had  passed  on  the  sub- 
ject between  herself  and  Mr.  Melliss. 

And  the  lady  and  the  seamstress  talked  of  nothing  but 
the  fatal  duel,  the  dead  man  and  the  poor  unconscious 
widow  and  orphans  until  they  reached  Sydenham,  and 
turned  into  Hawthorne  lane. 

The  lights  in  the  front  windows  of  the  Cottage  drawing- 
room,  placed  there  for  "poor  Charley,"  quite  illuminated 
the  house  and  the  upper  end  of  the  lane. 

The  scene  looked  cheerful.  But  its  very  cheerfulness 
depressed  the  spirits  of  the  tender-hearted  women,  who 
knew  what  sorrow  was  presently  to  change  all  that  light  to 
darkness. 

They  had,  however,  scarcely  time  to  think  about  it  before 
the  carriage  drew  up  at  the  garden  gate  before  the  cottage. 

The  footman  jumped  down  and  rang  the  bell. 

And  Molly's  poor  little  simple  maid  answered  it,  as  has 
been  said. 

She  could  not  tell  whether  her  mistress  was  at  home  or 
not;  but  she  would  take  the  visitor's  name  in  and  see,  she 
said. 

But  Mrs.  Melliss  directed  her  to  say  only  that  "a  lady  " 
had  called  to  see  her  mistress. 


106  A      NOBLE      LORD. 

And  the  little  maid  took  in  the  message,  and  soon  re- 
turned with  a  request  that  the  lady  would  walk  in. 

"  Come,  Rachel,"  said  the  banker's  wife,  as  she  entered 
the  house. 

"Dear  Mrs.  Melliss,"  said  the  seamstress,  trembling, 
"  give  me  a  few  minutes  to  recover  myself.  Go  on  before. 
I  will  follow  in  a  moment." 

The  lady  then  entered  the  house,  and  was  shown  into  the 
drawing-room. 

She  was  instantly  recognized  by  the  children,  who  crowd- 
ed around  her  with  exclamations  of: 

"  Fay  Dammer !  " 

"  Fay-ee  Dranma !  " 

"  Fairy  Grandmother !  " 

"  You  will  kindly  pardon  my  little  ones,  madam.  They 
know  no  better  than  to  be  so  rude  in  their  welcome.  And 
you  will  please  to  let  me  know  who  it  is  that  honors  us  with 
this  visit,"  said  Mrs.  Faulkner,  as  she  rather  formally 
greeted  her  visitor. 

"I  come  from  your  father,"  murmured  the  banker's  young 
wife,  in  some  embarrassment. 

"  I  am  aware  of  that,  dear  madam.  I  am  also  aware  that 
you  have  often  come  from  my  dear  father,  and  that  you  have 
been  the  trusted  medium  of  countless  benefits  from  him  to 
me  and  my  children,  though  I  have  never  had  the  pleasure 
of  seeing  you  before,  or  even  of  hearing  jTour  name.  But 
sit  down,  dear  madam ;  please  sit  down,"  said  Molly,  druw- 
ing  forward  the  best  resting  chair. 

Mrs.  Melliss  accepted  the  offered  seat  just  as  Rachel 
Wood,  recovering  from  her  agitation,  entered  the  room. 

"Ah,  Rachel,  you  here!  I  am  very  glad  to  see  you. 
You  have  just  come  in  good  time.  1  am  sure  you  know 
this  lady.  I  wish  you  to  introduce  her  to  me,  since  she 
does  not  introduce  herself.  She  comes  from  my  father 
again,  dear  Rachel,"  said  Mrs.  Faulkner  eagerly. 


BAD      NEWS      AT      CHARLES      STREET.       107 

"  Madam,  have  I  your  permission  to  tell,  at  loM  ?  "  in- 
quired Rachel. 

Mrs.  Melliss  nodded  assent.  She  was  too  much  disturbed 
to  speak. 

Rachel  turned  to  Mrs.  Faulkner,  who  was  waiting  impa- 
tiently. 

"  Madam,"  she  said,  "  this  lady  visitor  of  }rours,  who 
calls  herself  your  children's  Fairy  Grandmother,  and  who 
has  been  your  benefactress  from  the  beginning,  and  who  is 
now  the  best  friend  you  have  in  the  world  —  this  lady, 
madam,  is  Mrs.  Melliss,  the  wife  of  your  father ! " 

Mollj7  gazed  from  the  seamstress  to  the  lady,  in  stupid 
amazement. 

"  You — my — father's — wife  ?  "  at  length  she  slowly  in- 
quired. 

"  Yes,  dear  Mrs.  Faulkner,  I  am  your  father's  wife,  and 
his  daughter's  friend,"  gently  answered  Angela. 

Again  Molly  stared  from  the  lady  to  the  seamstress,  and 
then  she  slowly  inquired  : 

"  You — my — friend  ?  What  then  turned  you  from  being 
my  bitterest  enemy  into  being  my  friend?  " 

"  Dear  child,  I  never  was  your  enemy !  I  have  always 
been  your  friend,"  answered  Angela. 

Molly  stared  at  her  in  silent  wonder. 

"  I  always  warned  you  that  you  did  your  young  step- 
mother cruel  injustice,  Mrs.  Faulkner;  but  you  would  not 
believe  me  without  proof,  and  I  was  not  at  liberty  to  tell 
you  before,  what  I  am  happy  to  tell  you  now — that  it  was 
and  it  always  was  your  step-mother,  and  no  one  else,  who 
has  helped  you  in  your  trouble,  and  who  has  heaped  upon 
you  the  blessings  that  you  are  now  enjoying,  and  who  has 
been  striving  for  years  to  bring  about  a  reconciliation 
between  your  father  and  yourself,  but  has  never  succeeded 
in  doing  so  until  to-night." 

"  Dear   Rachel,"   interrupted   the   banker's   young  wife, 


108  A      NOBLE      LORD. 

"you  must  do  my  husband  justice.  He  this  evening,  un- 
solicited, quite  voluntarily,  sent  me  here  to  ask  his  daughter 
to  come  home  with  me,  bringing  all  her  children." 

"  Oh,  Kachel !  "  said  Molly,  piteously  clasping  her  hands 
— "  Oh,  my  dear  Each  el,  is  this  really  true,  that  you  tell  me 
about  my  step-mother?  " 

"  True  as  truth,  Mrs.  Faulkner." 

"  Oh,  then,  how  bitterly  cruel  and  unjust  I  have  been  in 
my  harsh  judgments,  and  in  my  deep  hatred !  Oh  !  how 
can  you  ever  forgive  me,  Mrs.  Melliss  ? "  inquired  poor 
Molly. 

"  My  child,  you  have  never  offended  against  me ;  so  I 
have  nothing  whatever  to  forgive.  The  bugbear  of  a  step- 
mother that  you  feared  and  hated  so  much  was  never  I,  but 
it  was  only  a  grim  chimera  of  your  own  imagination  !  "  said 
Angela  pleasantly. 

"That's  so!  "eagerly  exclaimed  Molly,  delighted  to  see 
such  a  clear  way  out  of  her  dilemma;  "that's  so,  indeed! 
Of  course  it  was  never  you,  it  could  never  have  been  you, 
that  I  hated  ;  for  who  could  hate  such  an  angel  as  you  ? 
No  one  could — not  even  such  a  little  devil  as  I !  No,  indeed, 
my  dear  lady  !  It  was  not  you  I  hated  !  It  was  a  chimera 
of  my  own  imagination.  You  never  said  a  truer  thing  than 
that.  I  had  made  unto  myself  an  image  of  a  step-mother 
who  had  been  an  old  maid,  tall,  raw-boned,  skinny,  with  a 
sharp  nose  and  thin  lips,  and  with  false  hair  and  false  teeth 
and  enamelled  complexion,  as  to  her  person  ;  and  with  a 
false  heart  and  artful  mind  and  vindictive  temper,  as  to  her 
soul !  And  I  hated  her  with  all  my  might.  But  I  never 
hated  you." 

"No,  you  never  hated  me!  So,  therefore,  let  us  say  no 
more  about  that.  But  your  father  has  sent  for  you  to  come 
home  to  him,  with  all  your  children,  to-night,  my  dear.  Can 
you  do  so  ?  " 

<l  I  am  delighted  at  the  thought  of  going — but  it  is  very 
sudden." 


BAD     NEWS      AT      CHARLES      STREET.       109 

"Yes;  but  it's  best  to  'strike  while  the  iron's  hot,'  as  the 
old  proverb  advises.  I  should  go  at  once,  if  I  were  you, 
Mrs.  Faulkner,"  said  Rachel. 

"  I  should  be  only  too  glad  to  do  so,  but  you  see  I  am 
waiting  here  for  my  poor  Charley,  whom  I  expect  from  Lon- 
don by  every  train,"  said  Molly. 

The  mention  of  the  dead  man's  name  by  his  unconscious 
widow  produced  a  sudden  silence,  that  lasted  until  Molly 
herself  again  broke  it,  by  saying: 

"You  see,  Charley  hasn't  been  home  since  yesterday 
morning.  I  did  expect  him  last  night,  but  he  did  not  come. 
He  either  missed  the  train  last  night,  or  else  he  has  run 
down  to  Brighton  or  to  Worthing,  or  some  other  place,  as  he 
sometimes  impulsively  does,  for  a  day's  airing.  Ah,  you 
don't  know  how  much  anxiety  my  poor  Charley  causes  me 
by  his  thoughtlessness!"  said  Molly,  shaking  her  black 
curls. 

"  To  be  sure,"  said  Mrs.  Melliss,  who  now  saw  her  way 
clear  to  draw  her  poor  step-daughter  home  before  revealing 
her  heavy  bereavement.  "  And  you  are  right  in  your  con- 
jecture, my  dear.  We  happen  to  know  that  Captain  Faulk- 
ner did  go  down  to  Brighton  last  night  with  a  party  of 
gentlemen." 

"  There  !     I  said  so  !"  exclaimed  Molly. 

"  Your  father,  who  has  his  own  reasons  for  desiring  an 
immediate  and  complete  reconciliation,  has  gone  down  to 
Brighton  to  bring  him  up  this  very  night.  Your  father 
desires  that  the  family  meeting  shall  be  at  his  house.  So 
now  you  have  no  objection  to  go,  have  }7ou  ?  " 

"  Oh,  none  at  all.     Not  the  least." 

"  Then  get  ready,  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Melliss. 

Molly  called  the  nurse  to  bring  the  children  after  her,  and 
then  ran  up  stairs. 

"Oh,  how  fortunate  you  have  been.  Mrs.  Melliss,  to  gain 
her  consent  to  go  to  London  without  exciting  her  suspicious 


110  A      NOBLE      LORD. 

that  anything  was  wrong,  and  without  tampering  with 
truth  either  !  "  said  Rachel,  as  soon  as  they  were  left  alone. 

"  Ah,  yes,  Rachel !  "  But  what  am  I  about  to  do  ?  To 
'  keep  the  word  of  promise  to  her  ear,  and  break  it  to  her 
hope.' » 

"  It  seems  cruel,  but  unavoidable.  She  must  be  at  home 
before  she  is  told,"  said  Rachel. 

"  Yes,  she  must.  She  must  be  under  her  father's  pro- 
tection, and  in  reach  of  medical  assistance ;  for  I  warn  yon, 
Rachel,  that  this  great  sorrow  will  go  very  hard  with  both 
her  mind  and  bod}',"  sighed  Mrs.  Melliss. 

She  had  no  time  to  add  more,  for  just  at  that  moment 
Molly  entered,  followed  by  all  her  children,  the  nurse  carry- 
ing the  youngest  baby. 

"  I  was  not  long,  was  I  ?  Fortunately,  you  see,  the  chil- 
dren were  all  dressed  to  receive  their  father.  And  I  had 
only  to  put  on  their  wraps,"  said  Molly  pleasantly,  as  she 
entered. 

The  children  crowded  around  their  Fairy  Grandmother, 
and  seized  her  hands  and  skirts,  and  wanted  to  know  if  she 
were  now  going  to  take  them  to  Cinderella's  Palace. 

Rachel  Wood  called  them  off,  and  took  them  to  the 
brougham,  where  they  were  all,  with  some  difficulty,  crowded 
in.  Mrs.  Melliss  and  Molly  followed  the  children  into  the 
carriage. 

Rachel  Wood  and  the  nurse  were  left  to  shut  up  the  house 
and  to  follow  in  a  hired  fly  that  was  to  be  sent  from  the 
Family  Hotel. 

The  drive  back  to  town  was,  to  the  children  and  their 
mother,  a  journey  full  of  glee.  The  children  romped  and 
laughed  and  babbled,  and  jumped  and  tumbled  about  over 
each  other  and  over  their  Fairy  Grandmother  to  their  heart's 
content. 

And  their  mother  laughed  to  see  them. 

In  due  time  they  reached  London,  the  West  End,  and 


BAD      NEWS      AT      CHARLES      STREET.       Ill 

finally  Charles  street,  and  drew  up  before  the  banker's  resi- 
dence. 

The  fly,  with  Rachel  and  the  nurse,  came  up  almost  at 
the  same  moment. 

Mrs.  Melliss  led  her  step-daughter  into  the  house,  and 
installed  her  into  a  handsomely  furnished  suite  of  spare 
rooms. 

And  there  Molly  took  off  her  own  and  her  children's 
wraps.  And  then  the  children  were  allowed  to  run  through 
the  house  for  a  little  while,  and  then  they  were  given  some 
light  and  wholesome  refreshment  and  put  to  bed. 

Rachel  Wood  went  home  in  the  hired  fly. 

Mrs.  Melliss  ordered  supper  to  be  served  for  herself  and 
her  visitor. 

"  Will  you  not  wait,  dear,  for  papa  and  Charley  ?  "  in- 
quired Molly,  with  a  look  of  anxiety. 

"I  think  not.  Your  papa  will  scarcely  return  before  the 
last  train  ;  that  will  make  it  much  too  late  for  our  supper," 
said  Mrs.  Melliss,  who  thought  it  much  the  best  that  Molly 
should  be  fortified  by  a  good  meal  for  the  shock  she  must 
shortly  sustain. 

So  the  two  ladies  supped  alone  together. 

And  then  Angela  would  have  persuaded  Molly  to  go  to 
bed,  in  the  faint  hope  that  she  might  also  go  to  sleep,  and 
thus  escape  hearing  the  bad  news  until  morning. 

But  Molly  very  naturally  insisted  upon  sitting  up  until 
the  return  of  her  papa  and  Charley. 

They  sat  together  until  one  o'clock,  and  then  began  to 
listen  for  the  door  bell  to  ring.  At  length,  near  two  o'clock 
after  midnight,  the  door  bell  did  ring. 

And  as  all  the  servants  had  been  sent  to  bed,  Mrs. 
Melliss  herself  went  out  to  answer  it. 

"  Stay  here,  my  dear,  until  I  return,"  she  said  to  Molly. 

She  ran  and  opened  the  door  to  her  husband. 

"  Well,  dearest,  have  you  brought  my  daughter  home  ?  " 
whispered  the  banker. 


112  A     NOBLE     LORD. 

"Yes,  and  her  children,"  answered  Angela. 

"Does  she  know  anything  ?  " 

"Nothing.  She  thinks  she  comes  here  to  meet  her  hus- 
band and  to  assist  at  a  family  reconciliation." 

"  Poor  child  !  poor  child  !  " 

"  Dear,  you  look  so  weary.  Will  you  not  take  something 
before  you  see  her  ?  " 

"No,  no;  I  require  nothing,"  said  Mr.  Melliss,  as  he 
mechanically  hung  up  his  shawl  and  hat. 

Angela  had  been  trembling  to  ask  another  question. 
She  asked  it  now,  in  two  whispered  words : 

"The  body  1" 

"It  will  reach  town  to-morrow,  in  charge  of  the  under- 
taker. The  funeral  will  be  held  at  this  house.  Now  let  us 
go  to  my  daughter." 

Angela  opened  the  back  drawing-room  door,  and  went 
before  her  husband  to  the  sofa  where  her  step-daughter  sat 
eagerly  expectant. 

"  Your  father,  my  dear,"  she  said. 

Molly  sprang  up  and  ran,  and  then  stopped,  trembling. 

Her  father  came  to  her,  put  his  arms  around  her,  and 
silently  folded  her  to  his  breast. 

"Papa!"  she  murmured,  kissing  him  —  "dear  papa, 
though  I  cannot  say  I  am  sorry  for  having  married  my 
poor  Charley,  yet  I  can  say,  with  earnest  truth,  that  I  am 
very,  very  sorry  rny  marriage  should  have  so  displeased  you. 
You  forgive  me,  dear  papa  ?  ;; 

"  I  forgive  you  from  the  bottom  of  my  heart,  rny  own 
dear  daughter ! " 

"And  my  poor  Charley  !     You  forgive  him  too  ?  " 

"  I  forgive  him  with  all  my  sonl." 

"Then  where  is  my  Charley  ?  Lurking  behind,  I  sup- 
pose, so  as  not  to  interrupt  our  first  meeting!  Poor  Char- 
ley is  always  so  considera  e  i:i  these  little  matters.  But 
you  will  let  him  come  in  n  w?" 


BAD      NEWS      AT     CHARLES     STREET.       113* 

The  hour  had  come  in  which  she  must  be  told  of  her  hor- 
rible bereavement.  Yet  neither  the  banker  nor  his  young 
wife  could  summon  courage  to  tell  her. 

She  looked  from  one  to  the  other,  and  saw  that  there  was 
something  withheld  from  her  knowledge. 

"Where  is  Charley?  Why  does  he  not  come  in?"  she 
inquired,  in  a  slightly  tremulous  tone. 

"  My  dear  child,  your  husband  did  not  return  with  me," 
said  the  banker  gravely. 

" Not  return  with  you!  Oh,  why?  Is  anything  wrong 
with  my  dear  Charley  ?  " 

"Come  and  sit  down,  my  darling,"  said  the  banker,  lead- 
ing her  to  a  sofa,  and  placing  her  between  himself  and  his 
young  wife. 

"  Oh  !  why  don't  you  answer  my  question  ?  Oh,  papa ! 
what  is  it  that  you  are  keeping  from  me  ?  "  she  cried,  in  a 
piteous  voice. 

The  banker  covered  his  face  with  his  hands,  and  his 
young  wife  wept. 

"  Heaven  of  Heavens !  What  do  you  both  mean  ? 
What  has  happened  ?  Is  Charley  ill  ?  Is  Charley — Oh, 
my  heart ! — Is  Charley — dead  't " 

Her  father  took  her  in  his  arms,  and  tried  to  soothe  her. 

Her  step-mother  kneeled  down  beside  her,  and  begged 
her  to  try  to  be  calm. 

But  she  declared  that  she  knew  some  terrible  calamity 
had  befallen  her,  and  she  insisted  upon  knowing  what  it 
was. 

Then  they  gently,  tenderly  told  her  the  terrible  truth. 

And  here  I.  would  willingly  draw  a  vail  over  the  scene 
that  followed. 

Poor  Molly  had  never  in  her  life  possessed  the  least  self- 
control.     And  now  she   abandoned   herself  to  the  wildest 
anguish  and  despair,  ending  in  strong  convulsions. 
7 


114  A      NOBLE      LORD. 

Her  father  laid  her  on  the  sofa,  and  her  step-mother 
loosened  all  her  clothes. 

The  household  was  aroused,  and  a  physician  was  sum- 
moned. 

And  she  was  conveyed  to  bed,  and  hy  medical  advice  she 
M-as  put  under  the  influence  of  a  strong  narcotic,  that 
finally  gave  her  agonized  spirit  rest. 

The  next  morning,  while  the  young  widow  was  still 
sleeping  under  the  influence  of  morphia,  the  body  of  her 
husband  was  brought  to  the  house  and  laid  out  in  the  front 
drawing-room. 

That  forenoon  the  letters  from  poor  Faulkner,  mailed 
from  Paris  by  Fitz-John,  his  absconding  second,  arrived. 

Mr.  Melliss  laid  carefully  aside  the  letter  addressed  to  his 
daughter.  Then  he  opened  and  read  the  one  written  to 
himself.  And  if  he  had  never  forgiven  poor  Charley  before 
he  must  have  done  so  now. 

On  the  fourth  day,  while  Molly  was  still  very  ill  in  bed. 
the  funeral  took  place.  Before  the  coffin  was  finally 
closed,  the  j'oung  widow,  at  her  own  earnest  prayer,  was 
lifted  out  of  bed  and  carried  to  the  room  where  the  dead 
lay,  that  she  might  take  a  last  look  at  all  that  remained  of 
her  gay  and  handsome  Charley. 

But  the  ordeal  was  too  severe  for  her.  Again  she  gave 
way  to  the  wildest  agony  of  grief,  and  again  fell  into 
spasms,  and  so  was  carried  off  to  bed  and  quieted  only  by 
powerful  narcotics. 

Not  the  least  trying  scene  in  this  tragedy  was  the  grief 
of  the  poor  children  beside  the  open  coffin  of  their  dead 
father,  where  they  too  had  been  taken,  that  they  might  kiss 
the  cold  face  before  it  was  forever  hidden  from  their  view. 

But  Angela  Melliss  took  them  to  herself  and  soon  con- 
soled them,  for  the  grief  of  innocent  children  is  happily 
very  short-lived. 

The  remains  of  Captain  Faulkner  were  finally  laid  in  the 


BAD      NEWS      AT     CHARLES     STREET.       115 

family  vault  of  Walter  Melliss,  in  the  Kensal  Green  Ceme- 
tery. 

Days  passed  before  the  young  widow  could  sleep  without 
opium,  or  take  any  food  except  in  a  liquid  form,  or  even  bear 
the  sight  of  her  own  children. 

Weeks  passed  before  she  could  be  persuaded  to  leave  her 
own  room,  or  take  an  airing  with  Mrs.  Melliss  in  a  carriage. 

But  at  length  youth  and  nature  conquered  sorrow  and 
despair,  and  the  active  duties  of  life  drew  her  from  her 
seclusion. 

It  was  on  the  third  day  that  she  had  made  her  appear- 
ance in  the  drawing-room,  when  she  was  told  that  a  person 
at  the  door  wished  particularly  to  see  her. 

She  directed  the  servant  to  admit  the  "  person,"  who 
entered  the  drawing-room,  and  proved  to  be  Adams,  the 
detective  employed  by  the  late  Captain  Faulkner  to  look  up 
Benny. 

He  greeted  the  mourning  widow  with  deep  respect,  and 
apologized  for  intruding  on  her  privacy  in  these  early  days 
of  her  widowhood,  but  pleaded  the  compelling  force  of  the 
law. 

"  The  fact  is,  Madam,"  he  said,  "  that  desperate  young 
snakesman,  Ben.  Hurst,  who  let  in  the  burglars  on  the 
night  of  the  robbery  at  your  house,  is  taken  at  last,  and  is 
now  in  the  hands  of  the  police.  And  you  are  wanted, 
Madam,  to  give  evidence  against  him." 


116  A     NOBLE      LORD. 

CHAPTEK  XL 

HOW   BENNY  WAS    BETRAYED. 

Then  earth  arose,  and  In  her  might, 

To  vindicate  her  injured  right, 

Thrust  him  in  deeper  dens  of  night — A,  A.  PBOOTOR. 

THIS  was  the  manner  in  which  Benny  came  to  be 
Wrested. 

For  weeks  he  had  hidden  himself  away  in  that  misera- 
ble den  in  that  wretched  court  with  Tony  Brice,  the  Nut 
,'racker  and  other  pickpockets,  snakesmen  and  burglars — 
not  that  he  for  an  instant  suspected  that  he  himself  was  in 
any  degree  implicated  in  the  robbery  at  Woodbine  Cot- 
tage, and  the  assault  with  intent  to  kill  in  Hawthorne 
Lane  ;  but  that  he  feared  to  be  taken  as  a  witness  against 
his  father. 

When  some  weeks  had  passed,  however,  without  any 
apparent  cause  for  alarm,  Benny  became  more  confident 
of  safety,  and  he  also  grew  sick  to  see  his  playmate,  Suzy 
Juniper. 

So  one  Monday  morning  he  stole  out  of  his  den  in  the 
court,  and  glided  through  lanes,  alleys  and  back  streets, 
until  he  reached  the  court-yard  behind  the  Thespian  Tom- 
pie  and  the  back  buildings  where  the  stage  carpenter  and 
his  family  lodged. 

He  opened  the  door  and  went  in  to  the  large  family  room, 
where,  as  usual,  he  found  the  father,  mother,  and  all  the 
girls  and  boys  gathered  for  their  midday  meal,  which  was 
not  yet  quite  ready  to  go  on  the  table. 

Suzy  was  the  first  to  recognize  Benny,  and  she  ran 
eagerly  to  meet  him.  She  looked  worn  and  weary,  but 
flushed  with  excitement  as  she  accosted  him  with : 

"  Oh,  Benny!  I  arn  so  glad  to  see  you  !  Wherever  have 
you  been  this  long,  long,  long  time?" 


HOW   BENNY   WAS  BETRAYED.     117 

"  I've — I've  been  away,"  said  Benny,  still  careful  not  to 
betray  his  fatber  by  any  cbance.  "But  I'm  so  glad  to  find 
you  home,  Suzy !  I  tried  to  time  my  visit  so  as  to  catch 
you  just  after  you  came  home  from  rehearsal." 

"  I  don't  go  to  rehearsal  no  more,  Benny.  Ob,  such 
news  !  I  have  left  the  London  stage  for  good,  Benny ! 
Oh,  I  have  got  such  lots  to  tell  you  !  But  come  in  and 
speak  to  mother  and  father  and  the  children  first ;  they're 
a  looking  at  you,  ever  so  ! " 

Benny  went  further  into  the  room  and  shook  bands  with 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Juniper,  who  greeted  him  with  cheerful  kind- 
ness, and  said  that  he  must  stay  to  dinner,  "  which  it  was 
their  favorite  dish  of  tripe  and  inyons,  with  a  pot  of  beer 
round."  And  then  he  shook  hands  with  all  the  little  Juni- 
pers, and  they  greeted  him  noisily,  and  informed  him  that 
"  Suzy  was  a  going  to  France  along  of  the  great  Madame 
Vesta,  and  was  a  going  to  make  all  their  fortunes  right  off! " 

"  Yes,"  said  Suzy,  "  that's  so,  Benny  !  Come  and  sit 
right  down  here  by  me  on  this  little  bench,  like  we  used  to 
do,  and  let  me  tell  you  all  how  and  about  it,  Benny." 

Benny,  much  pleased,  and  also  a  little  bewildered  by  all 
that  he  saw  and  heard,  took  the  seat  beside  his  little  play- 
mate, who  immediately  put  her  left  arm  around  his  waist, 
and  drew  his  right  arm  around  hers,  "  like  we  used  to  do  in 
Junk  Lane,  Benny,"  she  said,  and  then  prepared  to  tell 
him  all  her  news. 

"  You  know  the  last  time  you- was  here,  Benny,  when  I 
told  you  so  many  offers  was  made  for  me  to  sing  and  dance 
and  act  at  other  theatres  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  Well,  one  come  to  our  manager,  from  the  agent  of  the 
great  Madame  Vesta,  who  was  forming  a  troupe  to  go  to 
Brighton  for  a  short  season.  Well,  you  see,  our  manager 
was  trying  it  on  with  Shakespeare  again,  which  he  can't 
come  it,  you  know,  Benny,  and  never  could.  Howsever,  it 


118  A      NOBLE      LORD. 

was  to  be  a  Shakespeare  go  for  two  weeks,  and  so  I  wasn't 
wanted  here,  and  was  let  of  to  go  to  Brighton  along  of 
Madame  Vesta's  troupe.  So  I  went.  Oh  !  it's  a  heavenly 
place  compared  to  London,  Benny — is  Brighton." 

"  I  know.     I've  been  there,"  said  Benny. 

"  Yes,  you  told  me  all  about  that,  you  know,  and  how  the 
beautiful  children  on  Brunswick  Terrace  took  you  in  and 
gave  you  a  slice  of  the  Twelfth-day  cake,  and  all  that ! " 

"  And  how  I  got  the  ring,  and  was  made  king  ! " 

"  Yes.  Well,  Benny,  I  had  good  times  at  Brighton,  too. 
I  played  every  night  in  such  beautiful  and  splendid  dresses 
as  a'most  dazzled  my  own  eyes,  and  mostly  with  wings 
too  !  I  was  one  time  a  Flower  Fairy,  a  Diamond  Queen,  an, 
Air  Spirit,  a  Fountain  Fay,  a  Spring  Sprite,  and,  oh  !  once 
I  was  the  Angel  of  the  sun,  in  a  glorious  dress  of  golden 
gauze  spangled  with  diamonds,  and  wings  of  the  same,  to 
represent  the  sun's  rays,  you  know  ! " 

"  That  must  a  been  splendid  !" 

"  It  just  was  !  Well,  you  see,  Madame  Vesta  took  notice 
of  me  and  picked  me  out  from  all  the  rest,  and  so — and  so 
— and  so — " 

"  And  so  the  long  and  short  of  it  is,"  interrupted  Mrs. 
Juniper,  "the  great  Madame  Vesta  wants  to  take  my  gal  to 
France  with  her,  to  be  under  her  own  pertection,  which  she 
offers  her  sich  good  wages — " 

"  Salary,  mamma,"  amended  Miss  Suzy. 

"  Sich  good  salaries  then,  an'  me  and  her  father  don't  feel 
justified  in  refusing  of  her." 

"  Specially  as  the  great  Madame  do  promise  and  vow  that 
our  gal  shall  have  private  chutors  and  time  to  get  her 
schoolin',"  added  the  stage  carpenter. 

"  Which  Madame  says  I  must  have  some  education  to 
make  the  most  of  my  gifts,"  put  in  Suzy. 

Benny  looked  from  one  speaker  to  another  in  sympathetic 
pleasure,  though  upon  the  whole  he  seemed  rather  bewil- 
dered by  all  this. 


HOW   BENNY   WAS   BETRAYED.     119 

"  And  so,  in  fine,  she  is  to  go  to  Paris  with  Madame  when 
Madame  returns  from  her  engagement  ill  Vienna,"  said 
Mrs.  Juniper. 

"  When  will  that  be,  Suzy  ?  "  inquired  Benny. 

"About  the  first  of  January,  when  Madame  will  open  her 
new  theatre.  An't  you  glad,  Benny  ?  " 

"I'm  glad  o'  your  good  luck,  Suzy;  but  Fin  sorry  you're 
going  away." 

"Oh,  but,  Benny,  I'm  going  to  begin  to  make  a  fortune. 
And  that'll  be  for  your  good  as  well  as  mine,  dear.  And, 
oh  !  Benny,  I  forgot  to  tell  you  ! — oh,  how  selfish  it  was  of 
me  to  be  a  thinking  only  of  myself!  Benny,  there's  a 
stroke  of  good  luck  for  you  too  !  " 

"For  me!"  exclaimed  the  little  outcast  in  astonishment. 

"  Oh,  yes,  indeed  !  You  know  these  missionary  gents  as 
go  about  looking  up  poor  boys  and  girls  to  put  them  to 
school  ?  " 

"  No,  I  don't.  I  never  see  none  on  'em.  I  don't  know 
what  you  mean." 

"  0  yes,  you  do,  Benny !  Good  gents  in  black  coats 
as—" 

"  Oh !  you  mean  Gospel  Grinders,  as  puts  a  printed 
pamphlet  in  your  hand  when  you're  starving  for  a  piece  of 
bread !  And  tells  you  to  be  good  and  read  it  when  you 
don't  know  one  letter  from  t'other !  " 

"  Oh,  Benny,  Benny,  that's  not  the  way  to  talk  of  the 
pious  clergy ! " 

"  That's  the  way  Tony  and  the  Nut  Cracker  talks  on  'em, 
and  they  knows." 

"No,  they  doiCt  know,  Benny.  And  you  mustn't  mind 
'em.  They  try  to  make  you  a  bad  boy,  Benny.  And 
they've  been  trying  to  do  it  all  their  lives.  But  they  can't 
make  a  very  bad  boy  of  you,  Benny,  that's  certain,  because 
you've  got  such  a  good  heart !  But  you  mustn't  speak  ill 
of  dignities,  Benny." 


120  A      NOBLE     LORD. 

I 

"Well,  then,  I  won't,  Suzy,  if  you  don't  like  it.  I  won't 
do  nothink  to  tease  you." 

"  That's  you,  Benny.     I  knew  you  wouldn't.* 

"  And  now  what  about  the  parson,  Suzy  ?  " 

"  Oh,  Benny,  yes  !  The  parson  is  a  real  sweet-spoken 
gentleman,  as  does  a  great  deal  of  good,  which  he  is  con- 
nected with  a  public  school  which  he  wants  to  put  you  to. 
Benny." 

"  Put  me  to  school  ?  What  does  he  know  about  me  ?  " 
inquired  Benny,  distrustful  and  alarmed. 

"Oh,  I'm  sure  I  don't  know  as  he  knows  anything  more'n 
we've  told  him !  And  we've  told  him  nothink  but  what's 
good  of  you,  Benny.  And  he  comes  two  or  three  times  a 
week  to  inquire  after  you,  Benny." 

"  I  don't  like  him.  I'm  going  home,  Suzy,"  said  the 
wretched  boy,  whose  life,  passed  among  thieves  and  beggars, 
had  sharpened  his  wits  to  detect  a  detective. 

"  What  are  you  afraid  of,  Benny  ?  Don't  go  till  after 
dinner.  See !  I'm  dishing  of  it  up  now.  And  only  smell 
how  good  it  is !  Tripe  and  inyons !  We  don't  have  that 
every  day,  I  can  tell  you,"  said  Mrs.  Juniper,  as  she  sat  a 
large  bowl  filled  with  the  savory  mess  steaming  hot  upon 
the  table. 

"  But  I  want  to  go  home.  I  don't  want  to  see  that  man 
as  is  looking  after  me,"  persisted  the  boy,  notwithstanding 
the  tripe  and  onions. 

"  Well,  you  shall  go  home  the  minute  you've  had  your 
dinner,"  said  the  good  mother  of  the  family. 

"And  a  pot  of  beer,"  added  the  kind-hearted  father. 

"  And  you  sha'n't  go  holne  a  minute  before  that,"  said 
Suzy  positively. 

And  Benny  yielded  to  the  will  of  this  innocent  little 
Delilah. 

They  gathered  around  the  table  and  made  very  merry 
over  it. 


HOW      BENNY      WAS      BETRAYED.  121 

But  ah  !  the  meal  was  scarcely  concluded,  and  the  little 
pots  of  beer  were  not  half  empty,  when  the  door  opened 
and  the  disguised  detective  walked  in. 

The  stage  carpenter  and  his  wife  and  his  daughter  at 
once  arose  from  the  table  and  most  respectfully  greeted  the 
visitor. 

"  Oh,  keep  your  seats,  keep  your  seats,  my  friends,  and  go 
on  with  your  dinner.  There  is  no  pleasauter  sight  in  this 
sinful  world,  than  a  father  and  mother  with  their  young 
brood  gathered  around  the  family  board/'  said  the  pretended 
parson. 

"  Would  your  reverence  do  us  so  much  honor  as  to  join 
us  ?  "  inquired  Jerry,  who  honestly  believe  tripe  and  onions 
to  be  an  irresistible  temptation  to  all  classes  of  society. 

"  No,  thank  you.  Have  you  heard  anything  yet  of  our 
interesting  young  friend,  Benjamin  Hurst?"  inquired  the 
disguised  detective. 

"  Why,  Lor'  bless  your  reverence  !  there  he  is  now  !  "  said 
Jerry,  pointing  with  his  fork  to  Bennj*,  who,  poor  boy  !  had 
already  recognized  in  the  pretended  parson  the  disguised 
detective — not  that  he  had  ever  seen  the  individual  before, 
but  that  he  had  a  thorough  acquaintance  with  the  species. 

"  Oh  !  Ah  !  So  that  is  our  interesting  little  friend,  is 
it  ?  That  is  Benjamin  Hurst,  is  it  ?  " 

"Yes,  sir,  that's  the  boy;  and  a  better  boy,  barring  the 
bad  example  of  his  companions,  you  won't  find  nowhere, 
sir,"  said  honest  Jerry  Juniper. 

"  No,  that  you  won't,  sir,"  added  Jenny  Juniper. 

As  for  Suzy,  she  looked  wistfully  into  the  supposed  minis- 
ter's face,  to  see  if  he  really  were  so  well  disposed  to  Benny 
as  he  professed  and  she  believed  him  to  be  ;  but  she  could 
make  nothing  that  she  had  not  already  made  out  of  that 
smiling  countenance. 

"  So  this  is  onr  young  friend,  is  it  ?  "  said  the  pretended 
parson,  going  around  the  table  and  standing  beside  Benny. 


122  A      NOBLE     LORD. 

"  How  do  you  do,  sir  ?  And  where  have  you  been  this  long 
while,  away  from  your  anxious  friends  ?  "  he  inquired. 

"  Please,  sir,  I  au't  beeu  up  to  nothink  to  be  tuk  for,  sir  ! 
— please,  sir,  indeed  I  an't !  "  pleaded  Benny. 

"  Why,  of  course  you  haven't.  Who  said  you  had  ?  " 
jocosely  inquired  the  visitor. 

"Please,  sir,  nobody  didn't!  But,  please,  sir,  I  knows 
you,  sir !  Please,  sir,  I  know  as  you  an't  no  parson,  sir. 
Please,  sir,  I  know  as  you're  a  detective.  But,  please,  sir,  I 
an't  been  up  to  nothiuk  to  be  tuk  for,  sir ! "  pleaded  Benny. 

It  was  wonderful,  but  from  the  moment  that  Benny  had 
instinctively  detected  the  detective,  every  one  in  the  room 
believed  him,  and  followed  suit. 

"  I  wouldn't  'ave  'ad  this  'appened  in  my  'ouse  for  a  ten 
pound  note  down  ! "  said  the  stage  carpenter  indignantly. 

"  What  ever  has  the  boy  been  up  to,  sir  ? "  demanded 
Mrs.  Juniper. 

"Benny  hasn't  been  up  to  anything  bad.  I  know  he 
hasn't,"  added  Suzy  positively. 

"  I  am  sorry  to  undeceive  you,  my  good  friends,  but  this 
young  rascal  is  about  the  greatest  young  rascal  now  in  Lon- 
don ! " 

"He's  not!  Benny's  not!  You  great,  big,  ugly,  hairy, 
clawry,  old  story-telling  fie-for-shaiue,  you  !  Pretending  to 
be  a  good  parson,  coming  to  put  Benny  to  school,  and  all 
the  time  being  of  a  deceiving  old  detective,  coming  to  take 
him  to  prison — like  the  wickedest  old  willian  in  all  the 
plays  I  play  in — so  you  are  !  "  burst  forth  Suzy,  in  a  torrent 
of  childish  indignation. 

"  Whe-ew,  my  dear!  It's  clear  to  me  that  the  great 
Madame  will  need  to  have  you  educated,  before  she  can 
make  a  great  actress  of  you,"  said  the  detective,  with  a 
laugh. 

Suzy  turned  away  from  him  in  childish  scorn,  and  ad- 
dressed herself  to  Benny. 


HOW  BENNY  WAS  BETRAYED.     123 

"  Oh,  Benny,  Benny,  I'm  so  sorry  !  I  didn't  know  he 
was  a  detective.  None  of  us  didn't,  or  we  would  never  a  let 
him  darken  our  doors,  so  we  wouldn't." 

"  Don't  cry,  Snzy.  You  couldn't  help  of  it.  Them  sort's 
a  deal  too  sharp  for  the  likes  o'  you.  Lord  bless  you,  Suzy  ! 
they'd  deceive — yes — they'd  deceive  each,  other.  And  1 
couldn't  say  more'n  that,"  said  Benny. 

"And  you  an't  niad  long  o'  me,  Benny  ? "  pleaded  the 
little  girl. 

"  Mad  long  o'  you,  Suzy  ?  I  never  was  mad  long  o'  you 
in  my  life.  And  no  more  I  couldn't  be." 

"And  you  an't  been  up  to  nothink  they  can  hurt  you  for. 
I  know  you  an't,  Benny." 

"  Lor'  bless  you  !  no ;  not  a  thing.  I  know  what  they 
want:  they  want  to  make  me  'peach;  but  they'll  have  a 
healthy  time  doing  that,  you  mind  ! "  said  the  boy,  over- 
coming his  own  fright  and  plucking  up  a  spirit  to  reassure 
his  little  friend. 

"But  what  have  he  been  a  doing  of?"  inquired  Mrs 
Juniper. 

"  Yes  ;  what  ever  is  he  took  for  ?  You  haven't  told  us 
that  yet,"  added  Mr.  Juniper. 

"He's  took  for  being  implicated  in  a  burglary  where 
there  was  a  very  considerable  amount  of  property  stolen) 
and  an  assault  with  intent  to  kill  made,  and  all  but  a  mur- 
der committed.  That's  what  he's  took  for,"  said  the  detec- 
tive, who  had  now  laid  his  hands  on  the  accused. 

"What!  that  child!"  exclaimed  the  stage  carpenter, 
staring. 

"  Yes,  sir,  that  boy.  And  it  was  his  master's  house  that 
he  helped  to  rob." 

"What!  the  place  where  he  was  living  page,  and  run 
away  from  ?  "  inquired  Mrs.  Juniper. 

"  The  same,  ma'am.  He  admitted  a  set  of  burglars  to 
his  own  master's  house  to  rob  and  murder." 


124  A     NOBLE     LORD. 

"  I  didn't,  Suzy.  I  didn't  do  no  such  a  thing,"  exclaimed 
Benny,  bursting  into  indignant  tears. 

"I  know  you  didn't,  Benny,"  said  his  little  friend,  in 
perfect  trust. 

"And  I  wouldn't  never  a  helped  to  rob  no  house  as  Lily 
and  Charley  and  Mary  and  Ada  lived  in,  so  I  wouldn't ! " 
wept  the  boy. 

"  I  know  you  wouldn't,  Benny.  You  needn't  tell  me," 
said  Suzy. 

"  Then,  pray,  how  came  you  by  this,  sir  ?  "  inquired  the 
detective,  who  had  been  quietly  searching  the  person  of  the 
boy,  and  now  produced  from  his  pocket  a  small  gold  thimble, 
marked  with  the  name  of  M.  M.  FAULKNER. 

"That  was  give  to  me  in  London  here,  sir;  indeed,  in- 
deed it  was,  sir ;  and  I  was  a  bringing  of  it  for  a  gift  to 
Suzy." 

"  Oh,  it  was  given  to  you.  Of  course  it  was  !  And  by 
whom  ?  " 

Benny  did  not  understand,  or  would  not. 

"  Who  gave  you  this  gold  thimble  ?  "  inquired  the  detec- 
tive, varying  the  form  of  his  question. 

Benny  could  not  or  would  not  tell. 

"  Come,  then,  my  fine  fellow.  We'll  see  what  the  magis- 
trate will  say  to  you  ! "  said  the  detective,  taking  the  boy 
by  the  shoulder,  to  march  him  off. 

"  Oh,  sir,"  said  Suzy,  smothering  her  resentment,  that  she 
might  plead  the  cause  of  her  friend — "  Oh,  sir,  please,  you 
won't  hurt  Benny,  sir  !  Please,  he's  a  good  boy,  sir  !  In- 
deed he  is !  He  didn't  do  it,  sir  ;  indeed  he  didn't !  You 
may  take  my  word  for  that !  " 

"  Oh,  yes  !  we'll  take  your  word  for  that !  Of  course  we 
will !  Come  along,  you  j'oung  rascal  !"  said  the  detective, 
first  answering  the  little  girl,  and  then  giving  the  boy  a 
jerk. 

"  Oh,  sir  !  please  don't  hurt  Benny  !     I'm  sorry  I  sauced 


BENNY     COMMITTED     FOR     TRIAL.         125 

at  you  just  now  !  But  I  won't  do  it  never  no  more,  if  you 
will  please  not  to  hurt  Benny,"  she  pleaded. 

"  Suzy,  don't  you  cry  !  I'm  all  right !  I  an't  been  up  to 
nothink.  And  if  I  an't  been  up  to  nothink,  they  can't  do 
nothink  with  me.  They  want  me  to  peach  ;  that's  what 
they  want.  And  they'll  have  a  healthy  time  a  getting  of 
me  to  do  it ! "  said  the  boy,  defiantly. 

"  Come  along,  sir  !  "  said  the  detective,  dragging  him. 

"  Well,  I'm  a  coming  along,  an't  I  ?  But  you'll  let  a  cove 
take  leave  of  his  friends  first,  won't  you  ?  "  cried  Benny, 
breaking  suddenly  away  from  his  captor,  and  giving  his 
hand  to  Mrs.  Juniper  and  then  to  Suzy  to  say  "  good-bye." 
But  when  he  offered  his  hand  to  Mr.  Juniper  for  the  same 
purpose,  the  honest  stage  carpenter  took  up  his  old  hat  and 
said: 

"  I'll  go  along  and  see  you  through  this,  my  boy. 

"Thank  y',  sir,"  said  Benny. 

"  Oh,  papa,  thank  y'  too  from  me  !  "  added  Suzy. 

And  then  the  detective  walked  off  with  Benny,  followed 
by  Mr.  Juniper. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

HOW   BENNY   WAS    COMMITTED   FOR   TRIAL. 

"  True  to  the  only  faith  he  knew."— DEENS. 

WHEN  they  reached  the  magistrate's  office,  which  was  but 
a  short  distance  off,  they  found  the  place  still  full  of  the 
usual  morning  crowd  of  petty  delinquents  who  had  been 
arrested  on  the  previous  evening  for  such  minor  offences  as 
drunkenness,  disorderly  conduct,  and  so  forth. 

Many  of  these  had  to  be  examined  and  disposed  of  before 
Benny's  turn  came. 


126  A      NOBLE      LORD. 

When  at  length  it  did,  the  detective  led  the  boy  up  before 
the  magistrate  and  said : 

"  Please  your  worship,  this  is  the  young  snakesman  the 
police  have  been  in  search  of  so  long,  and  I  arrested  him 
this  morning." 

"Ah  !  What  is  the  charge  against  him  ?  " 

"  Please  your  worship,  he  was  concerned  in  the  robbery  at 
the  late  Captain  Faulkner's  place,  Woodbine  Cottage,  Haw- 
thorne Lane,  Sydenhara,  where  there  was  a  quantity  of  pro- 
perty stolen,  and  an  assault  with  intent  to  kill,  that  almost 
ended  in  a  murder." 

"  Ah  !  ah  ! "  said  the  magistrate,  putting  on  his  spectacles 
and  leaning  over  his  table  to  take  a  nearer  look  at  such  a 
precocious  young  criminal. 

"  Please  your  worship,  this  is  one  of  the  worst  young 
villains  in  all  London,  and  connected  with  the  most  desper- 
ate set  of  thieves  and  burglars  to  be  found  anywhere. 
With  the  Nut  Cracker  and  his  gang!"  continued  the 
detective,  with  much  unction. 

"Ah !  ah !  Now  what  have  you  got  to  say  to  all  this, 
boy?"  inquired  the  magistrate,  still  staring  through  his 
spectacles  at  the  little  prisoner. 

"  Please  your  vorship,  I  an't  been  up  to  nothink  at  all !  " 
answered  Benny,  raising  his  blue  eyes  frankly  to  the  face 
of  the  magistrate. 

"  Ah !  you  haven't !  Where  are  your  witnesses,  offi- 
cer?" 

"The  witnesses  are  Mrs.  Faulkner,  widow  of  the  late 
Captain  Faulkner — she  is  now  with  her  father,  Mr.  Melliss 
of  Charles  Street — and  a  Mr.  Riley  of  Sj'denhatn,  and  a 
Mr.  Briggs  of  Lower  Norwood." 

"  When  can  you  produce  them  ?  " 

"  To-morrow  morning,  your  worship." 

"Then  the  prisoner  must  be  detained  in  custody  until  to- 
morrow morning — half-past  eleven,  officer.  That  will  give 


BENNY      COMMITTED      FOR     TRIAL.         127 

us  time  to  clear  off  all  smaller  cases  before  this  comes  up. 
Take  him  away." 

And  Benny  was  taken  to  the  station-house  and  locked 
up. 

The  stage  carpenter  went  with  him  to  his  temporary 
lodging,  and  took  leave  of  him  at  the  door,  advising  him  to 
keep  a  stiff  upper  lip. 

"  Never  you  mind,"  said  Benny ;  "  I'm  not  scared. 
Give  my  love  to  Suzy,  and  tell  her  as  I'm  all  right." 

And  the  stage-carpenter  went  home  and  reported,  and 
tried  to  console  his  weeping  little  daughter,  by  telling  her 
that  he  felt  quite  sure  the  boy  would  come  out  all  right  in 
the  end. 

The  next  morning,  at  half  past  eleven  o'clock,  the  little 
prisoner  was  again  brought  before  the  magistrate,  where  he 
found  assembled  his  late  mistress,  in  her  deep  mourning, 
and  with  her  two  men  whom  he  had  never  seen  before. 

As  soon  as  the  prisoner  was  brought  up,  the  clerk  dipped 
his  pen  in  ink  and  prepared  to  take  down  the  charge  which 
Mrs.  Faulkner,  being  duly  sworn,  was  requested  to  make. 

Poor  innocent  Molly  began  by  saying: 

"  Mr.  Magistrate,  I  want  you  to  understand  that  I  don't 
wish  to  have  this  poor  boy  punished  at  all.  All  I  want  you 
to  do  is  to  frighten  him  a  bit,  so  as  to  make  him  tell  where 
the  stolen  goods  are  and  give  them  up  ;  for  you  see,  sir, 
they  are  many  of  them  relics  and  memorials  of  my  poor, 
dear,  dead  Charley." 

The  magistrate  looked  puzzled  for  a  moment,  and  then 
asked : 

"  What  is  it  that  you  want,  madam  ?  " 

"  I  don't  want  to  have  the  poor  boy  sent  to  prison.  I 
only  want  you  to  frighten  him  a  bit,  to  make  him  give  up 
the  stolen  goods,  and  then  let  him  off." 

"  O  !     Then,  if  I  do  understand  you,  madam,  you  wish  to 

— COMPOUND  A  FELONY  ?  " 


128  A      NOBLE      LORD. 

"  Yes  ! "  said  Molly  eagerly,  as  if  glad  to  have  her  kind 
intentions  so  briefly  expressed ;  "  that's  what  I  want  to  do 
— to  '  compound  a  felony.'  " 

But,  mind  you,  poor  Molly  had  no  more  idea  of  what 
compounding  a  felony  meant  than — than  you  or  I  have. 

The  magistrate  smiled  in  a  sour  sweet  sort  of  way,  and 
without  taking  any  further  notice  of  her  innocent  intention 
to  "  compound  a  felony,"  he  requested  her  to  make  her 
statement. 

"And  mind  you,  missus,  you  needn't  to  go  for  to  con- 
found no  felonies,  not  on  my  account,  'cause  I  hadn't  no- 
think  to  do  with  it.  They  want  me  to  peach  !  that's  what 
they  want  me  to  do !  which  I  hope  they'll  get  it,"  said 
Benny. 

"  Hold  your  tongue,  sir !  "  commanded  the  magistrate. 

And  then  Mrs.  Faulkner  made  her  statement.  She  told 
all  she  knew  of  the  boy,  from  the  time  he  entered  her  late 
husband's  service,  to  the  time  he  was  supposed  to  have 
assisted  in  the  robbery  of  their  house. 

And  the  clerk  took  her  words  down  in  writing. 

Then  a  Mr.  Riley,  from  Sydenham,  testified  that  he  had 
been  walking  in  the  neighborhood  of  Hawthorne  Lane 
about  one  hour  after  midnight,  on  the  night  of  the  robbery 
and  attempted  murder,  when  he  was  startled  by  a  cry  for 
help,  and  had  gone  to  the  lane,  where  he  found  a  man  lying 
on  the  ground,  bleeding  from  a  wound  in  the  leg,  and 
another  man,  Captain  Faulkner,  endeavoring  to  raise  him  ; 
that  he  had  helped  to  carry  the  wounded  man,  who  was 
called  Colonel  Brierly,  down  the  lane  to  Woodbine  Cottage, 
the  residence  of  Captain  Faulkner,  where  they  found 
drawers  broken  open  and  rifled,  and  other  signs  of  the 
recent  robbery;  that  he  had  remained  with  the  wounded 
man  and  the  terrified  family  while  Captain  Faulkner  went 
to  call  a  surgeon,  and  to  give  information  of  the  robbery  to 
the  police. 


BENNY      COMMITTED      FOR     TRIAL.          129 

The  third  witness,  John  Briggs,  stationer  at  Lower  Nor- 
wood, testified  that  he  had  been  to  a  convivial  party  at 
Sj'denhara,  and  was  standing  under  the  shelter  of  a  tree  just 
at  the  point  where  the  lane  went  in  from  the  high-road, 
waiting  for  an  omnibus  to  take  him  home,  when  he  saw  the 
prisoner  approach,  followed  by  a  tall,  stout  man.  He  saw 
them  both  pause  at  the  entrance  of  the  lane,  and  saw  the 
prisoner  point  up  the  lane,  and  heard  him  whisper  to  his 
companion  that  that  was  the  house,  and  that  it  was  the 
kitchen  door  which  was  open.  And  then  both  disappeared 
in  the  shadows  of  the  lane.  And  the  witness  saw  no  more 
of  them,  for  the  omnibus  he  was  waiting  for  came  by,  and 
he  immediately  got  into  it  and  rode  home. 

And  that  was  all  he  knew  of  the  robbery  at  Woodbine 
Cottage. 

Although  this  testimony  bore  very  heavily  upon  the  young 
prisoner,  he  seemed  really  to  brighten  under  it. 

And  why  ? 

Because  lie  learned  from  it  that  Colonel  Brierly,  whom 
his  "  father  "  had  shot,  had  not  been  killed,  as  he  had 
supposed,  but  had  been  only  slightly  wounded — that  there- 
fore his  "father"  was  no  murderer,  and  in  no  danger  of  the 
gallows. 

Nevertheless  Benny  resolved  to  be  true  to  the  only  faith 
lie  had  ever  been  taught,  and  not  upon  any  account  to 
betray  his  father  to  imprisonment  or  transportation. 

"  What  have  you  got  to  say  to  this  charge?"  sternly  de- 
manded the  magistrate. 

Now  Benny  might  have  fully  and  entirely  exculpated 
himself  from  all  suspicion  of  complicity  in  the  robbery,  by 
only  revealing  the  truth,  telling  how  he  had  run  away  and 
left  the  door  open  behind  him,  and  had  accidentally  met  his 
''father"  and  told  him  all  about  it,  and  how  his  "father" 
had  offered  to  go  back  and  shut  the  door,  and  made  that 
8 


130  A      NOBLE      LORD. 

errand  the  pretence,  unsuspected  by  Benny,  to  commit  the 
robbery. 

But  to  vindicate  himself  in  this  manner  would  have  been 
to  betray  his  supposed  father.  And  Benny  would  have  died 
before  he  would  have  done  such  a  thing. 

So  he  hung  down  his  head  and  kept  silent. 

"What  have  you  got  to  say  to  all  this,  I  ask  you, 
sir  ?  "  again  demanded  the  magistrate. 

Still  Benny  kept  silence.  And  there  was  a  strange 
blending  of  native  gentleness  with  acquired  defiance  in 
the  look  and  manner  of  the  boy,  utterly  incomprehensible 
and  perplexing  to  those  who  knew  nothing  of  the  dread- 
ful fatality  that  had  given  him  gentle  birth  and  ruffianly 
training. 

"  Answer,  sir !  What  have  you  to  say  to  this  charge  ?  " 
a  third  time  was  demanded  of  the  boy. 

And  now  he  lifted  his  fair,  refined  face  and  fixed  his 
mild  blue  eyes  upon  the  questioner,  and  answered  calmly : 

"  Nothink,  sir." 

The  magistrate,  meeting  those  innocent  eyes,  pitied  the 
poor  boy,  and  said  : 

"  Now  attend  to  me,  you  sir.  You  are  very  young — 
quite  a  child ;  and  on  account  of  your  tender  years,  you 
may  be  let  off,  if  you  will  do  what  you  ought  to  do." 

At  the  unexpected  kindness  expressed  in  this  address, 
tears  filled  the  eyes  of  the  boy.  And  the  magistrate,  en- 
couraged by  these  signs  of  sensibility,  went  on  to  say  : 

"  If  you  will  give  such  information  as  shall  lead  to  the 
arrest  of  the  miscreants  concerned  in  this  robbery,  you 
will  only  be  retained  for  a  short  time  as  Queen's  evidence 
against  them,  and  will  afterwards  be  discharged  free  of  any 
penalty." 

The  magistrate  ceased  to  speak,  and  waited  for  the  pris- 
oner's answer. 

But  Bennv  fell  into  silence. 


BENNY     COMMITTED      FOR     TRIAL.         131 

"  Will  you  do  this  ?  "  he  inquired. 

Benny  did  not  answer. 

"  Will  you  give  up  your  companions  ?  " 

"  Benny !  answer,  child  !  If  you  will  tell  who  robbed 
the  house,  you  will  go  free,  you  know,"  whispered  Mrs. 
Faulkner,  approaching  him. 

But  Benny  shook  his  head. 

"  My  lad,  you'd  better  tell  his  worship  all  you  know,  if 
you  want  to  get  out  of  this  clear,"  whispered  Jerry  Juniper. 

But  Benny  shook  his  head. 

"  Are  you  going  to  give  information,  sir,  or  not  ? "  in- 
quired the  magistrate. 

"  No,  I  an't !  "  said  Benny,  taking  up  his  mood  of  defi- 
ance. "  I  won't  peach  on  my  pals — no,  not  for  nothink  as 
you  could  do  to  me.  /  an't  afeard  !  " 

"  You  see  before  you  a  very  hardened  young  offender, 
your  worship ;  tender  in  years,  but  hardened  in  crime," 
said  the  officer  who  had  the  boy  in  charge. 

"  Hold  your  tongue,  Adams  !  "  said  his  worship. 

Then  turning  to  the  little  prisoner  again,  he  said  : 

"  Do  you  know  that  by  your  obstinacy  you  incur  a  very 
great  penalty?  and  that  unless  you  will  give  the  required 
information,  I  shall  have  to  commit  you  to  Newgate,  to 
answer  to  the  charge  of  burglary  at  the  Old  Bailey?" 

At  the  sound  of  those  terror-striking  words,  "Newgate," 
"  Old  Bailey,"  Benny  turned  sick  and  pale,  and  leaned 
against  the  railings  in  front  of  the  justice's  table. 

The  magistrate  noted  these  symptoms  of  yielding,  and 
tried  his  subject  again. 

"  You  have  only  to  give  us  the  names  of  the  men  who 
have  drawn  you  into  this  trouble  and  tell  where  to  look  for 
them,  and  you  need  have  no  fear  for  yourself.  Will  you 
do  so  ?  " 

Benny  was  silent. 

"  Will  you  do  so  ?     Answer  boy  ! " 


132  A      NOBLE      LORD. 

"No,  your  worship;  I  won't  peacb,  not  for  nothink  as 
you  could  do  to  me." 

"  He  is  incorrigible,"  sighed  the  justice. 

"  Oh,  Benny,  just  think !  They'll  put  you  in  jail,  and 
try  you  in  court,  and  may  be  send  you  off  to  Bottomy  Bay, 
where  you'll  never  see  Suzy  no  more  ! "  said  Jerry  Juniper, 
ready  to  cry. 

"  I  wouldn't  mind  it  if  it  wasn't  for  Suzy,"  sobbed  the 
boy,  as  his  chest  heaved  with  a  great  swell,  and  the  tears 
rained  down  his  face. 

"  Suzy's  heart  would  break,  Benny.  Tell  his  worship 
what  he  wants  to  know,  for  Suzy's  sake  ! "  pleaded  Jerry. 

"  Do,  Benny,"  added  Mrs.  Faulkner. 

"I'd  do  most  anythiuk  in  the  world  for  Suzy  'cept  peach, 
but  I  can't  peach  on  my  pals ;  no,  not  even  for  Suzy,"  wept 
the  boy. 

"  Your  worship,"  said  Jerry,  coming  up  before  the  bench 
and  tugging  at  his  forelock,  "  might  I  be  so  bold,  as  for  to 
speak  ?  " 

"  Yes,  man,  if  you  can  speak  to  the  purpose." 

"  I  think  I  can,  your  worship.  Which  I  meant  to  say, 
if  as  how  it  be  more  of  a  hobject  to  catch  them  burglarious 
willains  as  misled  this  boy  into  this  here  trouble,  than  it  be 
to  punish  this  here  boy  hisself,  1  think  as  I  have  a  little 
gal  at  home  as  can  coax  him  to  tell  where  them  reprobates 
is  to  be  found — which  they  was  play-fellows  ever  since  they 
was  babies,  sir,  and  are  mightily  wrapped  up  in  each  other." 

"  Very  well.  I  am  exceedingly  unwilling  to  commit  a 
child  like  this  upon  so  heavy  a  charge.  I  will  give  him  an- 
other chance.  I  will  remand  him  until  this  hour  to-morrow. 
And,  in  the  mean  time,  if  you  or  your  girl  can  persuade  him 
to  give  up  the  villains  who  really  committed  the  robbery, 
and  to  turn  Queen's  evidence  against  them,  you  or  she  will 
be  the  means,  at  the  same  time,  of  saving  the  boy  and  serv- 
ing the  community,"  said  the  justice. 


THE      LITTLE      PRISONER.  133 

"Thank  your  worship.  We'll  try,"  said  Jerry,  touching 
his  forelock,  and  retiring. 

"  Officer,  remove  the  prisoner,"  was  the  next  order. 

Aud  the  magistrate  arose  from  his  seat,  and  the  police- 
man cleared  the  room. 

"  Give  my  love  to  Suzy.  Tell  her  never  to  fear.  I  am 
all  right,"  said  Benn.y,  as,  in  the  custody  of  the  officer,  he 
passed  Jerry  Juniper. 

"  Suzy  and  I'll  come  to  see  you  to-morrow,"  answered 
the  stage  carpenter,  turning  to  shake  hands  with  the  boy. 

"And  please,  Mrs.  Faulkner,  give  my  duty  to  Master 
Charley  and  the  little  young  ladies,  and  tell  'em  as  how  I 
never  done  it,  and  I  would  a  died  sooner'n  cracked  a  case 
where  they  lived." 

"I'll  tell  them,  Bennj',"  said  the  lady  through  her  tears. 

"Aud  Mr.  Juniper!"  said  the  boy,  calling  after  the  re- 
treating stage  carpenter. 

"What  is  it,  Benny?" 

"  Don't  let  poor  Suzy  cry  about  me.  Tell  her  as  how  I'm 
all  right ! " 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

THE    LITTLE    PRISONER. 

Branding  him  with  a  deeper  brand, 

A  shame  he  could  not  understand. — A.  A.  PBOCTOB. 

"  OH,  father  !  how  about  Benny  ?  "  breathlessly  inquired 
Suzy  Juniper,  who  had  been  for  hours  on  the  watch  for  her 
father's  return,  and  now  ran  out  to  meet  him. 

"  I  can't  tell  you  quite  just  now,  my  little  maid.  'Tan't 
decided  yet,"  answered  Mr.  Juniper,  as  he  entered  his  own 
home. 

"  How  about  the  boy  ?  "  inquired  Mrs.  Juuiper,  placing 


134  A      NOBLE      LORD. 

a  chair  for  her  husband,  while  all  the  j'oung  Junipers  gath- 
ered around  him  with  eager,  questioning  faces. 

"  I've  just  told  Suzy  as  nothing  is  decided  yet.  But  this 
I  know,  he's  got  a  chance  to  get  clear  off,  if  he  ivill"  said 
the  stage  carpenter,  nodding  his  head  as  he  took  bis  seat. 

"  Oh,  father,  I'm  so  glad  !  For  of  course  he  will,"  ex- 
claimed Suzy,  while  her  mother  joined  her  in  expressions  of 
delight. 

"Well  now,  you  see,  I  don't  know  so  much  about  that," 
said  Jerry  dubiously,  shaking  his  head.  "  This  here  is  what 
it  is — whether  he  be  guilty,  or  whether  he  be  innercint — " 

" — Oh,  innocent,  father!"     This  from  Suzy. 

"  Well,  innercint  be  it  then.  Which,  innercint  as  he  may 
be,  he's  unfortinitly  known  to  be  cornected  with  a  gallus  bad 
lot  of  cads.  Which,  on  account  of  his  tender  age,  and  on 
conditions  he  will  give  such  infermations  to  the  perlice  as 
shall  lead  to  them  being  took  up  and  brought  to  justice,  he 
will  be  received  as  Queen's  evidence  on  the  trial,  and  so  get 
clean  off  hisself." 

"  Of  course  the  boy'Il  do  that,"  said  Mrs.  Juniper. 

"  I'm  not  so  sure,  do  you  see !  But  if  he  do  do  it,  he'll 
get  off  hisself  scot  free." 

"And  if  he  don't  do  it  ?" 

"  It'll  go  gallus  hard  with  him.  He'll  be  lagged  for  seven 
or  ten  or  may  be  fourteen  year.  Not  only  house-breaking, 
you  see,  but  'sault  with  intent  to  kill  mixed  up  along  of  it," 
eaid  Jerry  sorrowfully,  shaking  his  head. 

"  Oh,  father  !  "  breathed  Suzy,  clasping  her  hands.  "  Can 
nobody  persuade  him  to  give  up  the  wicked  men  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,  dear.  /  couldn't,  and  his  Worship 
couldn't,  and  the  lady,  his  former  missus,  couldn't.  But  the 
magestrit  wouldn't  commit  him  yet  a  while,  but  just  re- 
manded of  him  until  to-morrer,  to  give  him  another  chance. 
And  I'm  thinking,  my  little  maid,  that  if  I  take  you  to  him 
in  prison  to-morrer,  you  can  persuade  him  to  blow  on  them 
fellers  and  save  hisself." 


THE      LITTLE      PRISONER.  135 

"  Oh,  yes,  yes.  yes,  father  !  I  know  I  can.  Beimy'll  do 
anything  in  the  world  for  me.  I'm  so  glad  that  you  thought 
of  it,  j'ou  good  pappy  ! "  said  Suzy  eagerly. 

And  so  delighted  was  she  at  the  prospect  of  being  the 
means  of  saving  her  young  friend,  that  she  forgot  all  about 
her  own  fine  fortune  as  the  protegee  of  the  great  Madame 
Vesta,  and  she  talked  of  nothing  but  poor  Benny. 

And  very  early  the  next  morning,  Jerry  Juniper  and  his 
little  daughter  presented  themselves  at  the  police  station- 
house,  and  requested  admittance  to  see  Benny  Hurst. 

Being  recognized  by  the  policeman  who  had  Benny  in 
charge,  they  were  at  once  admitted. 

Benny  was  not  in  the  large  common  room,  where  all  the 
crowd  of  transient  prisoners  were  detained.  By  order  of  the 
magistrate,  he  had  been  placed  in  a  cell  to  himself,  lest  "evil 
communications  "  with  older  and  more  hardened  offenders 
should  confirm  him  in  his  resolution  to  shield  his  supposed 
confederates  in  crime. 

As  soon  as  the  cell  door  was  opened,  Suzy  ran  in,  and 
found  him  sitting  alone  on  the  side  of  a  narrow  little  bench 
that  had  served  him  as  a  bed,  and  that  was  the  only  piece 
of  furniture  in  the  bare  den.  He  was  playing  idly  with  his 
finger,  and  his  sad  blue  eyes  were  fixed  on  vacancy. 

As  soon  as  she  saw  him,  so  lonely  and  forlorn,  she  threw 
her  arms  around  his  neck  and  burst  into  tears,  crying  : 

"  Oh,  Benny  !  Benny  !  Benny  !  Benny  !  to  think  of 
your  being  here  in  such  trouble  !  And  it  all  our  fault  too  ! 
for  it  was  just  the  same  as  if  we  had  betrayed  you  into  the 
hands  of  that  detective.  Oh,  Benny,  I  don't  know  how 
you  can  ever  forgive  us,  or  be  friends  with  us,  or  even  so 
much  as  bear  the  sight  of  us,  any  more  !  But  we  didn't 
mean  to  do  you  any  harm.  Indeed  we  didn't,  Benny,  dear! 
We  never  thought  that  man  was  a  detective,  looking  after 
3'ou  !  We  truly  thought  he  was  the  city  missionary,  as  he 
pretended  to  be." 


136  A      N  O  H  L  E      LORD. 

"  I  know  it,  Suzy.  Don't  cry,  please.  I  an't  mad  long 
o'  you.  How  could  I  be  ?  You  couldn't  help  it,  Suzy, 
dear.  There,  don't  cry!  please  don't!"  pleaded  Benny, 
beginning  himself  to  shed  tears,  of  which  he  felt  ashamed. 
"  You  are  so  good,  Beuny,  so  good  !  and  to  think  we  have 
brought  you  to  this  !  But  we  didn't  mean  it,"  repeated  the 
girl. 

"You  never  brought  me  to  this,  Suzy.  Neither  you  nor 
yourn  didn't.  You  was  always  the  best  friends  as  ever  I 
had,  you  and  yourn.  So  'twa'n't  you,  you  see.  It  was 
them  detectives — bust  'em  !  "  said  the  boy. 

"  There,  my  lass,"  now  began  Jerry  Juniper,  coming  for- 
ward ;  "  that'll  do !  Don't  take  on  no  more.  You  see  you 
break  the  lad  right  down  !  Just  take  a  consideration  on  to 
it,  that  you  couldn't  help  his  being  brought  here,  but  you 
can  help  to  get  him  out  of  here." 

"And  simmerlerly  just  think,  Suzy,  as  how  even  if  T  be 
here,  and  even  if  I  should  be  lagged,  I'll  never  do  nothink 
dishonoble.  They  may  put  me  in  prisin,  or  they  may  send 
me  to  Bottomy,  or  they  may  scrag  me,  but  they'll  never 
make  me  blow  on  anybody  !"  said  the  boy  triumphantly. 

"Oh,  Benny!  Benny!  don't  say  that!  I  come  here  a 
purpose  to  beg  you  give  up  the  wicked  men  that  did  the 
robbery  as  you  a-re  took  for.  You  know  who  did  it,  Benny. 
And  you  know  where  they  are  !" 

"  If  I  do — and  mind,  I  don't  go  to  say  as  I  do — but  if  so 
be  I  do,  I'd  die  afore  I'd  tell ! "  said  the  boy  stubbornly. 
"  Oh,  Benny  !  not  even  for  my  sake  ?  " 
"No,  not  for  yourn  ! "  shaking  his  fair  head. 
"  Oh,  Benny  !  do  you  love  them  bad — bad — men  better'n 
you  love  me  ?  "  wept  his  little  friend. 

"No,  I  don't  love  'eui  one  bit — even  supposing  I  knows 
'em,  which  I  don't  own  I  do — and  I  love  you  a  great  deal, 
Snzy!-'' 

"  Well,  then,  why  won't  }7ou  tell  on  them  for  my  sake,  if 
you  love  me  more  than  you  love  them  ?  "  urged  the  girl. 


THE      LITTLE      PRISONER.  137 

"  I  say  as  I  don't  love  them  a  bit — s'posing  as  I  know 
'ern,  as  I  don't  say  I  do — and  I  love  you  heaps.  But  I 
never  did  peach,  and  [  never  will ! '"  said  the  boy,  still  very 
stubbornly. 

Suzy  burst  into  fresh  tears,  and  wept  as  only  a  distressed 
child  can. 

"  Oh,  please  don't  cry  any  more  !  It  cuts,  Suzy  !  It  do, 
indeed.  Don't,  Suzy  !  I  would  do  a  most  anythink  iu  the 
world  to  please  you,  Suzy  ;  but  I  can't  peach,  you  know, 
dearie  ;  I  can't  no  how." 

Poor  Suzy  was  not  at  this  time  gifted  with  much  power 
of  logic  or  eloquence.  She  could  only  cling  to  her  little 
friend,  and  weep  and  plead,  but  all  in  vain ;  for  though 
Benny  was  moved  by  her  tears  to  weep  with  her,  he  still 
shook  his  head  and  repeated  that  he  "couldn't  peach  no 
how,  not  even  for  her  sake,  not  even  if  they  killed  him." 

Jerry  Juniper  looked  on  and  listened,  half  in  anger,  half 
in  sorrow.  At  length  he  broke  forth  with: 

"I'll  tell  you  what,  my  lad,  if  you  don't  peach,  you'll  be 
lagged  may  be  for  fourteen  year." 

The  boy  raised  his  sad  blue  eyes  to  the  face  of  the  man, 
and  said : 

"  I'm  sorry,  Jerry,  but  I  can't  peach  !  don't  you  see  as 
how  I  can't  ?  And  don't  you  know  as-  if  so  be  I  could, 
I'd  do  it  for  Suzy  in  a  minute  ?  "  And  here  he  burst  into 
tears  and  clung  to  Suzy,  sobbing  hard. 

But  he  was  true  to  the  only  point  of  honor  he  had  ever 
been  taught.  Poor  little  outcast  that  he  was,  he  could  no 
more  have  betrayed  his  companions  to  save  himself  than  his 
father  the  Duke  of  Cheviot,  or  any  grand  old  Douglas  of 
his  line,  could  have  committed  any  act  that  they  deemed 
dishonorable. 

But  still  Suzy  wept  and  pleaded,  and  Jerry  argued  and 
scolded,  and  Benny  resisted,  sobbing  the  while  as  if  his 
heart  would  break,  until  at  length  the  policeman  came  to 
take  the  boy  before  the  magistrate. 


138  A      NOBLE      LORD. 

Even  then  Jerry  and  Suzy  did  not  desert  him,  but  fol- 
lowed on  to  the  magistrate's  office. 

The  office  was  crowded  with  spectators  of  the  very  lowest 
class,  for  somehow  or  other  the  report  had  got  around  that 
the  police  had  arrested  the  little  snakesman  of  the  Nut 
Cracker  gang,  and  that  they  were  trying  to  get  him  to 
"  peach." 

Benny  was  led  through  this  crowd,  and  placed  once  more 
Lefore  the  justice's  heuch. 

The  witnesses  against  him  having  all  given  their  evidence 
on  the  day  before,  there  was  nothing  new  to  be  heard,  and 
nothing  more  to  be  done  than  to  commit  him  to  prison, 
either  as  a  culprit  to  await  his  trial  at  the  Old  Bailey,  or  as 
a  witness  to  appear  as  Queen's  evidence  against  the  older 
and  harder  criminals. 

"  Well,  my  boy,  I  hope  you  have  made  up  your  mind  to 
do  your  duty,"  said  the  magistrate. 

Benny  lifted  his  head  with  a  strange  pleading  look  in  his 
clear  eyes. 

"  Will  you  give  up  the  names  of  your  confederates  in  this 
robbery  ?  "  continued  his  worship. 

"  Please,  sir,  I  can't  peach,"  answered  the  boy. 

"  '  Can't ! '  you  mean  you  won't,  don't  you  ?  " 

Benny  looked  directly,  though  very  meekly,  in  the  mag- 
istrate's face,  and  answered  nothing. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  that  you  ivorft  give  up  your  con- 
federates ?  " 

"  Please,  sir,  I  said  I  couldn't  peach,  and  I  can't." 

"  Does  that  mean  you  won't,  I  ask  you  ?  " 

"Yes,  sir,  it  do,"  answered  Benny,  without  withdrawing 
his  gentle  eyes  from  the  face  of  the  justice. 

"Well,  of  all  the  incorrigible  little  cases!  Officer,  what 
does  this  mean?"  inquired  the  magistrate,  turning  toward 
a  policeman. 

"Why,  your  worship,  he  won't  give  information,"  an- 
swered the  latter. 


THE      LITTLE      PRISONER.  139 

"  My  good  man,"  said  the  magistrate,  turning  now  to 
Jerry  Juniper,  "  did  you  not  tell  me  that  you  thought  you 
could  induce  this  wretched  boy  to  save  himself  by  giving  up 
his  confederates  ?  " 

"  I  told  you  as  I  had  a  little  gal  at  home  as  might,  your 
"Worship,  which  here  she  is ;  but  werry  sorry  I  am  to  tell 
you  as  we've  both  on  us  failed  so  to  do,"  answered  Jerry 
Juniper,  coining  forward  hat  in  hand,  and  pulling  his  red 
forelock. 

Here  Suzy  began  to  weep  again,  and  to  plead  with  the 
little  prisoner,  saying  :  ,,. 

"  Oh,  Benny,  it  isn't  too  late  yet !  Tell  his  Worship, 
Benny  ;  do,  dearie  !  Save  yourself,  for  my  sake." 

"  I'd  do  anythink  in  the  world  as  I  could  do,  for  your 
sake,  Suzy ;  but  I  can't  peach,"  replied  the  boy,  bursting 
into  tears. 

"Make  out  the  warrant  for  the  committal  of  Benjamin 
Hurst  to  the  prison  of  Newgate,  upon  the  charge  of  bur- 
glary and  assault  with  intent  to  kill,"  said  the  magistrate, 
addressing  his  clerk. 

Suzy  threw  her  arms  around  the  boy's  neck,  and  in  an 
agony  of  sorrow  and  terror  implored  him  to  yield  before  it 
should  be  too  late. 

But  Benny,  weeping  bitterly,  persisted  in  his  purpose 
"never  to  peach  on  his  pals." 

"  Take  him  away,"  said  the  magistrate,  as  soon  as  he  had 
signed  the  warrant. 

And  the  policeman  took  Benny  by  the  arm  to  lead  him 
off. 

"  Good-bye,  Suzy !  Don't  cry,  Suzy !  I'm  so  sorry  I 
hurt  you,  Suzy;  but  I  couldn't  peach,  you  know,"  said  the 
boy,  holding  back  to  shake  hands  with  his  friends. 

Desperation  gave  the  pretty  little  maiden  courage. 

"  01),  Mr.  Policeman,  don't  take  him  off  just  yet !  not 
just  yet !  Let  me  speak  to  the  magistrate  one  minute  ? 


140  A      NOBLE      LORD. 

Ob,  sir !  Mr.  Magistrate,  please  don't  send  Benny  off  to 
prison  yet  ?  not  just  yet  ?  Oh,  please  give  him  one  more 
day  to  consider,  and  give  me  one  more  chance  to  try  and 
coax  him  to  tell  you  what  you  want  him  to  tell?  Benny's 
a  good  boy,  sir;  indeed  he  is !  He  never  had  nothing  to  do 
with  robbing  his  master's  house ;  indeed  he  hadn't !  And 
if  he  knows  who  did  rob  it,  or  who  shot  the  gentleman  he'll 
tell  me,  sir ;  indeed  he  will !  Only  give  him  one  more  day 
to  think  about  it,  and  me  one  more  chance  to  coax  him  ?  " 

"  You  are  very  good  at  coaxing,  as  I  perceive,  my  poor 
little  girl.  But  I'm  afraid  your  efforts  would  be  lost  upon 
the  prisoner.  I  know  the  sort  of  boy  that  he  is.  My  good 
man,  you  had  better  take  your  little  daughter  home.  Offi- 
cer, remove  the  prisoner,"  said  tbe  magistrate,  rising. 

And  Benny  was  immediately  carried  off  by  the  police- 
man. 

And  Jerry  Juniper  led  his  weeping  little  daughter  away. 

"  Hush  crying,  Suzy !  Crying  don't  do  no  good.  Let 
us  be  thinking  of  something  as  may  do  good.  Who  was 
that  lawyer  as  defended  of  Benny's  mother  when  she  was 
tried  for  the  murder  of  the  ballet  girl,  and  who  saved  her 
life,  you  know  ?  "  inquired  Jerry  Juniper  of  his  daughter, 
as  they  passed  down  the  street,  after  having  left  the  magis- 
trate's office. 

"I  don't  know,  father;  I  was  so  little  then.  But  oh  !  I 
tell  you  who  does  know,"  said  Suzy,  between  her  sobs. 

«  Who  then  ?  " 

"  liachel  Wood  ;  she  knows !  " 

"  I  wonder  if  she  lives  in  Junk  Lane  yet." 

"  I  don't  know.     We  could  go  and  see,  father." 

"  So  we  could ;  turn  about  now,  and  let's  go  there  with- 
out loss  of  time.  For  if  we  can  only  get  hold  of  that 
young  lawyer,  as  has  a  heart  in  his  buzzum,  we  may  get 
him  to  defend  Benny  !  And  then  he  may  get  the  boy 
clean  off,  or  else  with  a  very  light  penalty,"  said  Jerry,  as 


THE     LITTLE      PRISONER.  141 

they  turned  into  the  Strand  and  bent  their  steps  toward 
Low  street. 

They  turned  down  Low  street  and  down  Ship  Alley  and 
into  Junk  Lane,  and  soon  reached  the  old  tenement  house. 

They  climbed  to  the  fourth  story  and  rapped  at  the  left- 
hand  front  room. 

The  pleasant  voice  of  the  seamstress  bade  them  enter. 

They  did  so,  and  found  Rachel  Wood  sitting  in  her  low 
sewing-chair,  with  her  hands  busy  with  her  needle-work 
and  her  foot  on  the  rocker  of  her  adopted  baby's  cradle. 

"Why,  Suzy,  dear,  is  this  you?  And  how  do  you  do, 
Mr.  Juniper?  And  who  would  ever  have  thought  to  have 
seen  you  here  ?  "  she  inquired,  rising  and  giving  them  her 
hands. 

"And  what  wind  blowed  us  here  ?  ye  would  like  to  ask, 
if  it  weren't  impolite,  Miss  Rachel.  Ah  !  but  it  was  a 
werry  ill  wind,  Miss  Rachel,"  said  the  stage  carpenter, 
shaking  his  head. 

Suzy  said  nothing,  but  put  up  her  hands  and  wept  behind 
them. 

"  Sit  down.  And  then  tell  me  what  is  the  matter,"  said 
Rachel  quietly,  as  she  placed  two  chairs  for  them  and  re- 
seated herself  in  her  own. 

Then,  while  Suzy  wept  in  silence,  Jerry  Juniper  told 
Rachel  Wood  of  Benny's  arrest  and  imprisonment  on  the 
charge  of  having  been  concerned  in  the  robbery  of  his  late 
master's,  Captain  Faulkner's,  house. 

Rachel  Wood  was  dreadfully  shocked. 

She  had  not  been  near  Mrs.  Melliss  or  Mrs.  Faulkner 
since  the  funeral  of  Captain  Faulkner,  and  she  had  not 
heard  of  the  arrest. 

And  to  go  further  back  than  that,  as  she  had  not  been  at 
Woodbine  Cottage  from  the  time  she  helped  to  install  the 
family  there,  until  she  went  with  Mrs.  Melliss  to  bring  them 
away  again,  she  had  never  even  known  that  Benny  Hurst 


142  A      NOBLE     LORD. 

was  alive,  and  had  been  in  their  service,  much  less  that  he 
had  been  charged  with  admitting  burglars  to  rob  their 
house. 

All  this  was  new,  startling  and  dreadful  intelligence  to 
Rachel  Wood.  She  wept  over  the  fate  of  the  poor,  friend- 
less boy,  whom  she  firmly  believed  to  be  innocent  of  the 
robbery. 

"  I  know,"  she  wept,  "  that  he  was  taught  to  pilfer,  as  a 
duty  he  owed  to  his  grandmother;  but  there  was  a  rough 
honor  about  the  poor  mistaught  boy,  that  would  for  ever 
have  prevented  him  from  robbing  those  whose  bread  he 
ate." 

"  There  an't  a  doubt  as  he  knows  who  did  rob  the  house, 
but  he  won't  tell,  even  though  he  was  offered  to  be  let  go 
free  if  he  did,"  said  Jerry  Juniper. 

"  The  same  rough  honor  prevents  his  '  peaching '  as  he 
would  call  it,  poor  boy  !  "  sighed  Rachel. 

"  But  what  we  want  for  to  do,  Miss  Wood,  is  for  to  get 
hold  on  that  young  lawyer  as  defended  of  his  mother,  Madge 
Brice,  and  saved  her  neck,  you  know  !  If  we  could  get  him 
to  defend  poor  Benny,  he  might  get  clean  off,  or  only  with  a 
little  punishment." 

"  You  mean  Mr.  Percy  Melliss  ?  " 

"  Aye,  aye,  that's  the  gentleman  !  I  couldn't  think  of 
his  name  before." 

"  Oh  !  I'm  so  sorry ! "  said  Rachel,  with  a  grieved  look. 
"I  am  so  very  sorry !  If  he  were  on  the  spot,  I  do  believe 
he  would  take  up  the  case  at  once  with  zeal.  But  he  is  not 
in  town — not  even  in  England.  You  see,  he  broke  himself 
down  with  his  labors  at  the  bar,  and  he  has  been  ordered  by 
his  physicians  on  a  sea  voyage  for  his  health." 

"  And  he's  gone  ?  "  groaned  Jerry,  with  a  look  of  despair. 

"  Gone !  I  told  you  so.  He  sailed  for  New  York  last 
Saturday." 

"  And  he  was  013'  last  hope  !  Now,  what's  to  be  done  ?  " 
sighed  the  stage  carpenter. 


THE      LITTLE      PRISONER.  143 

"Nothing  that  I  know  of  can  be  done  but  endeavor  to 
persuade  that  poor  rnistrained  boy  that  it  is  his  duty  to  turn 
Queen's  evidence  in  this  case,"  said  Rachel. 

"But  an't  it  too  late?"  inquired  Jerry,  while  Suzy 
suddenly  stopped  crying,  and  looked  up  with  new  hope  in 
her  eyes. 

"No,  indeed.  Of  course  it  is  too  late  now  to  prevent  his 
having  been  committed  to  answer  the  charge  of  burglary. 
But  it  isn't  too  late  even  now  for  him  to  give  up  the  rob- 
bers, and  turn  Queen's  evidence  against  them,  and  so 
appear  at  the  Old  Bailey  in  the  witness  box,  instead  of  in 
the  felon's  dock.  It  an't  too  late  for  that.  And  I  have  no 
doubt  in  the  world  but  that  the  prison  chaplain  will  bring 
all  good  influences  to  bear  upon  the  boy,  to  make  him  give 
up  the  wretches  who  have  brought  him  to  this  pass,"  said 
Rachel  Wood. 

"  Lord  grant  it !  "  sighed  Jerry  Juniper. 

"  Oh,  Miss  Rachel,  and  won't  you  please  to  go  to  see  poor 
orphan  Benny  ?  And  won't  you  please  try  to  coax  him  to 
do  what's  right,  to  save  himself?  "  pleaded  Suzy. 

"  Indeed  I  will,  dear.     I  will  go  to-morrow." 

"And  oh  !  will  you  please  to  call  for  me  and  take  me  with 
you,  so  as  to  add  my  coaxing  to  yours  ?  " 

«  Yes,  Suzy,  I  will." 

'•'And  now,  my  lass,"  suggested  Jerry  Juniper,  "it  is 
time  for  us  to  be  going.  Mother  will  be  wondering  what- 
ever have  become  of  us." 

"  Good-bye,  Miss  Rachel !  Mind  you  be  sure  to  call  by 
for  me,"  said  Suzy,  as  she  kissed  and  took  leave  of  the 
seamstress. 

"  Good-afternoon,  Miss  Wood,"  said  the  stage  carpenter, 
picking  up  his  old  hat  to  take  his  daughter  home. 

There  was  lamentation  in  the  stage  carpenter's  house  that 
night,  when  the  mother  and  the  children  learned  from  the 
father  that  their  favorite,  Benny  Hurst,  was  a  prisoner  in 
Newgate. 


144  A     NOBLE      LORD. 

There  was  pity  and  sorrow  in  the  banker's  house  in 
Charles  street,  when  the  ladies  there  heard  from  Rachel 
Wood  of  the  condition  of  the  poor,  friendless  boy  who  had 
been  the  faithful  little  slave  of  one  lady,  and  the  grateful 
little  beneficiary  of  the  other. 

"Poor  Benny!  And  he  was  so  fond  of  my  children! 
Oh,  never  let  them  know  about  this  !  They  would  cry  their 
eyes  out !  "  said  Mrs.  Faulkner. 

"  He  is  the  same  lad,  you  say,  Rachel,  whom  I  once 
remarked  in  the  hall  outside  your  room  door,  and  who 
attracted  my  notice  at  once  by  the  singular  fairness  and 
delicacy  of  his  features  and  complexion,  and  his  most  extra- 
ordinary likeness  to  the  little  Earl  of  Wellrose  ?  "  inquired 
Mrs.  Melliss. 

"  The  very  same,  madam." 

"  How  did  the  unfortunate  child  fall  into  such  misery?  " 

"  His  wretched  old  grandmother  took  him  from  our  house 
on  a  begging  tramp,  and  I  lost  sight  of  him  for  along  time. 
And  indeed  I  had  the  strongest  reasons  for  believing  him 
to  be  dead  until  this  very  day,  when  I  heard  all  at  once 
from  his  friends  that  he  was  alive,  that  he  had  been  living 
as  page  at  Woodbine  Cottage,  and  that  he  was  in  prison 
under  the  charge  of  being  concerned  in  the  robbery  of  the 
house.  But,  before  Heaven,  I  do  not  believe  the  poor  boy 
to  be  guilty." 

"  Neither  do  I,"  said  Mrs.  Faulkner.  "  He  didn't  look 
like  that  sort  of  boy." 

"At  any  rate,  his  extreme  youth  pleads  for  him.  You 
say  that  there  is  a  chance  for  him  to  clear  himself,  by  giving 
up  the  names  and  abodes  of  the  real  robbers  ?  "  inquired 
Mrs.  Melliss. 

"Yes.  madam;  for  the  authorities  are  very  anxious  to 
get  hold  of  the  band,"  answered  Rachel. 

"Then  I  shall  try  very  hard  to  induce  the  boy  to  give 
them  up,  when  I  go  to  see  him  in  prison;  for  I  shall  cer- 
tainly go  to  see  him,  Rachel." 


THE     LITTLE     OUTCAST     IN     PKISON.       145 

"  Heaven  bless  you,  Mrs.  Melliss  !  " 

"And  although  my  dear  Percy  is  on  mid-ocean  BOW,  and 
not  available  for  this  service,  yet  some  other  able  advocate 
may  be  found,  and  the  funds  shall  not  be  wanting  to  retain 
him.  All  this  I  will  see  about  to-morrow." 

"  Heaven  bless  you,  Mrs.  Melliss,"  repeated  Rachel,  as  she 
arose  to  take  leave. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

THE   LITTLE    OUTCAST    IN    PRISON. 

Deflled 

By  the  air  he  breathed  in  a  world  of  sin ; 
But  the  truest,  teuderest,  gentlest  child, 
Man  ever  trusted  iu. — MKBKDITH. 

POOR  Benny,  inured  to  misery  from  his  very  birth,  bore 
his  fate  with  a  patient  fortitude  that  casual  observers  might 
have  taken  for  sullen  defiance. 

He  even  slept  through  the  first  night  in  his  cell  at  New- 
gate. And  with  a  courtesy  that  was  as  much  a  part  of  his 
inherited  nature  as  was  the  clear  hue  of  his  complexion,  he 
thanked  the  turnkey  who  brought  him  a  mug  of  coffee  and 
a  hunk  of  bread  for  his  breakfast,  and  who  took  him  to  the 
rude  wash-room  allotted  to  the  prisoners  of  his  ward,  and 
afterward  gave  him  leave  to  walk  in  the  closed  and  grated 
court-yard. 

As  soon  as  the  hour  for  the  admission  of  visitors  arrived, 
Rachel  Wood  and  little  Suzy  Juniper  presented  themselves 
at  the  gate  and  begged  leave  to  see  Benny  Hurst. 

They  were  taken  to  a  central  yard  closed  in  with  stone- 
walls and  iron  gratings,  where  they  found  Benny,  sitting  by 
himself  on  a  wooden  bench,  and  looking  very  lonely  and 
forlorn. 

There  were  several  other  prisoners  sauntering  about  in 
9 


146  A      NOBLE      LORD. 

the  yard,  but  they  neither  spoke  to  nor  glanced  at  the  soli- 
tary boy. 

Eachel  and  Suzy  hastened  toward  him,  and  spoke  to  him 
before  he  perceived  their  presence. 

"Benny,  dear,  good-morning,"  said  the  seamstress  very 
gently.  And, 

"  Good-morning,  Benny,"  at  the  same  instant  said  Suzy. 

The  boy  jumped  up,  his  face  radiant  with  surprise  and 
pleasure. 

"  Oh,  Miss  Rachel,  is  it  you  ?  I'm  so  jolly  glad  to  see 
you  !  It's  wery  good  in  you  to  come  and  see  a  poor  cove  as 
is  in  quod  for  nothink,  and  to  bring  Suzy  too;  which,  to  be 
sure,  she  never  could  a  come  'less  you  had  brought  her, 
'cause  her  father  can't  leave  his  work  every  day  along  o' 
me,"  he  said. 

"  I'm  very  sorry  to  see  you  here,  my  poor  boy,"  said  the 
gentle  seamstress,  weeping. 

"And  I  didn't  do  it,  Miss  Eachel!  I  didn't  indeed!" 
said  the  poor  child  a  little  obscurely,  as  he  lifted  his  blue 
eyes  frankly  to  her  face ;  "  indeed,  indeed  I  didn't  do  it ! 
Suzy  knows  I  didn't !  " 

"  No,  that  you  didn't,  Benny.  I  told  Miss  Kachel  so," 
added  the  girl. 

"I  know  you  didn't,  Benny,"  calmly  answered  the  seam- 
stress. 

"  Oh,  do  you  know  it  ?  I'm  so  jolly  glad  you  know, 
'cause — " 

"'Cause  what,  Benny?" 

"  'Cause,  if  you  didn't  know  it  all  out  of  your  own  head, 
as  Suzy  knows  it,  you  mightn't  believe  me,  when  I  tell  you 
I  didn't.  The  magistrate  he  didn't  believe  me,  bust  him !  " 

"He  didn't  know  you  as  well  as  I  do,  Benny." 

"No,  and  so  he  sent  me  here.  And  I'm  to  be  tried  for 
burgl'y  in  the  first  degree  ;  for  they  do  say  as  it's  burgl'y  in 
the  first  degree  when  there's  housebreaking  with  'sault  with 
'tent  to  kill.  And  I  didn't  do  it,  Miss  Rachel." 


THE     LITTLE     OUTCAST      IN     PRISON.       147 

"  I  know  you  didn't,  my  poor  boy ;  so  you  need  not 
trouble  yourself  to  say  so  again." 

"  But  for  all  that,  bere  I  am  to  be  tried  for  burgl'y  in  tbe 
first  degree,  and  lagged  for  ten  year,  or  for  fourteen,  or  may 
be  for  twenty  year,  or  may  be  for  life  ;  for  they  do  say  as 
they  can  make  me  a  lifer  for  burgl'y  in  the  first  degree." 

"  No,  Benny,  my  dear,  not  so  bad  as  that !  And  there  is 
a  way  of  escape  for  you,  Benny,  by  which  you  can  not  only 
clear  yourself,  but  confer  a  great  benefit  upon  the  whole 
community." 

"  I  know  what  you  mean,  Miss  Rachel.  You  mean  as  I 
can  peach  !  But  I  can't,  Miss  Rachel ;  I  can't,  indeed ! " 
said  the  boy,  shaking  his  head. 

"  My  poor  child,  it  is  your  bounden  duty  to  give  up  the 
men  who  committed  this  robbery." 

"~No,  it  an't,  Miss  Rachel.  Beg  your  parding,  but  it 
an't  no  cove's  duty  to  peach  on  his  pals,"  persisted  Benny. 

"  My  poor,  poor  boy !  will  you  sacrifice  yourself  for  those 
bad  men  ?  " 

"  They  wouldn't  peach  on  me — not  one  on  'em  wouldn't, 
and  I  won't  on  them  ! "  persisted  the  lad. 

And  though  all  the  old  arguments  and  entreaties  were 
used  with  him.  neither  the  reasoning  of  Rachel  Wood  nor 
the  weeping  of  little  Suzy  could  move  him  from  his  pur- 
pose. 

While  they  were  still  pleading  and  expostulating  with  the 
boy,  Mrs.  Melliss,  attended  by  the  prison  chaplain,  came 
into  the  yard. 

It  would  appear  that,  on  first  coming  to  the  prison  that 
morning,  she  had  asked  for  the  chaplain,  had  been  shown 
into  his  room,  and  in  half  an  hour's  interview  had  succeeded 
in  interesting  his  reverence  in  the  little  prisoner,  Benny 
Hurst. 

And  now  they  had  come  together  to  see  him. 

Rachel  Wood,  after  respectfully  returning  the  kind  greet- 


148  A      NOBLE      LORD. 

ing  of  Mrs.  Melliss,  took  leave  of  Benny  and  led  little  Snzy 
away,  to  leave  the  field  free  to  Mrs.  Melliss  and  the  chap- 
lain. 

"  Do  you  remember  me,  my  boy?"  inquired  Mrs.  Melliss 
kindly. 

"  Yes,  ma'am.  You  are  the  lad}'  who  gave  me  a  suit  o' 
clothes  once,  the  werry  best  suit  as  ever  I  had  in  my  life. 
I  thank  you  kindly,  ma'am,"  said  Benny,  smiling,  and  pull- 
ing his  fair  front  locks,  by  way  of  a  respectful  salute. 

"And  do  you  know  this  gentleman  ?  "  she  inquired,  indi- 
cating the  chaplain. 

"  Oh,  yes  !  I  know  him  fast  enough  ! "  replied  Benny, 
laughing.  "  He's  Lady  Green  !  " 

"Lady — who?"  inquired  Mrs.  Melliss,  much  perplexed. 

"  Lady  Green.  Lor',  don't  you  know  ? — Lady  Green," 
said  the  boy,  laughing. 

"  Child,  are  you  out  of  your  senses  ?  This  is  a  gentle- 
man— a  reverend  gentleman,  the  chaplain  of  the  prison," 
replied  Mrs.  Melliss,  in  a  sort  of  consternation. 

"2  know  who  he  is !  And  I  know  his  little  game  too. 
But  he  can't  come  it !  not  on  this  child !  "  said  Benny, 
shaking  his  fair-haired  head  in  good-humored  defiance. 

"  My  poor  boy,  you  must  not  speak  so  of  this  good  gen- 
tleman. It  is  very  disrespectful  to  him,  and  unbecoming 
in  j'ou,"  said  Mrs.  Melliss  seriously,  laying  her  hand  on  the 
head  of  the  lad.  "And  what  in  the  world,  sir,"  she  in- 
quired, turning  to  the  chaplain,  "  dues  he  mean  by  '  Ludy 
Green  ? ' " 

The  reverend  gentleman  smiled  good-naturedly  as  he 
explained  : 

"  It  is  a  name  that  a  class  of  prisoners  bestow  upon  their 
prison  chaplain,  for  what  reason  I  cannot  possibly  imagine, 
unless  it  be  because  they  think  him  very  'green,'  to  be  so 
often  imposed  upon  by  their  professions  of  penitence. 

"  Oh,  I  see,"  said  Mrs.  Melliss. 


THE     LITTLE     OUTCAST      IN      PRISON.       149 

"You  say  you  know  me,  my  boy,  and  know  my  little 
game.  Now,  what  do  you  suppose  my  little  game  to  be  ?  " 
inquired  the  chaplain,  with  an  indulgent  smile. 

"  Why,  to  get  me  to  peach  on  my  pals.  Which,  begging 
of  your  parding,  sir,  I  can't  do  it,"  said  Benny. 

His  words  were  the  signals  for  Mrs.  Melliss  to  commence 
her  attack  upon  his  fatal  resolution. 

She  went  over  the  same  ground  taken  by  all  who  had 
preceded  her  in  trying  to  persuade  the  guiltless  boy  to  give 
up  the  guilty  parties,  and  with  no  better  success. 

"  I  must  leave  this  poor  little  fellow  to  you,  reverend  sir. 
You  have  more  experience  than  I  have,  and  will  be  better 
able  to  cope  with  his  perverted  ideas  of  honor  than  I  am," 
said  Mrs.  Melliss,  rising  to  take  her  leave. 

The  chaplain  courteously  attended  her  out  to  her  car- 
riage. 

Before  entering,  she  said : 

"I  hope  that  unfortunate  child  may  be  induced  to  save 
himself  by  giving  up  his  guilty  companions.  But,  in  any 
case,  I  shall  lose  no  time  in  seeking  out  able  counsel  to  de- 
fend him." 

"  I  thank  you  in  the  name  of  all  humanity,  dear  madam," 
said  the  chaplain,  as  he  put  her  into  the  carriage. 

The  next  day  Mrs.  Melliss  succeeded  in  engaging  the 
services  of  a  learned  and  eloquent  young  barrister,  a  Mr. 
Frederick  Freefield,  for  the  defence  of  the  forlorn  little 
prisoner  in  Newgate. 

She  took  Mr.  Freefield  to  Benny's  cell,  and  she  implored 
the  child  to  confide  in  him  as  his  counsel. 

But  Benny,  turning  his  tearful  eyes  from  the  lady  to  the 
gentleman,  answered : 

"  Missus,  and  your  honor,  I'd  do  any  think  in  the  world 
to  please  you  but  peach.  Please  don't  ask  me  to  do  that, 
'cause  I  can't.  If  I  couldn't  do  it  for  Suzy  Juniper,  I 
couldn't  do  it  for  nothink  nor  nobody." 


150  A      NOBLE      LORD. 

It  was  utterly  useless  to  assure  the  boy  that  to  enable  his 
counsel  to  defend  him  successfully,  he  must  confide  in  him 
entirely;  and  that  his  confidence  would  be  held  sacred. 

Benny  could  not  be  moved  from  his  point  "not  to  peach." 
He  held  his  secret  with  the  tenacity  of  death.  So  his  coun- 
sel could  get  no  help  from  him  for  the  defence. 

Nevertheless  Mr.  Freefield  felt  all  the  more  deeply  inter- 
ested in  the  fate  of  the  poor,  mistaught,  but  loyal-hearted 
boy. 

In  attending  Mrs.  Melliss  back  to  her  carriage,  he  said : 

"  We  will  not  be  discouraged,  madam.  It  wi-ll  be  some 
weeks  yet  before  the  opening  of  the  Sessions  at  the  Old 
Bailey.  In  the  mean  time  continued  imprisonment  may  so 
break  the  boy's  spirit  as  to  bring  him  to  listen  willingly  to 
our  advice  to  save  himself  by  becoming  Queen's  evidence 
against  the  miscreants  who  have  brought  him  to  this  pass.''7 

"  Oh,  try  your  very  best  to  persuade  him  so  to  save  him- 
self, sir,"  pleaded  the  lady. 

"I  certainly  shall.  No  doubt  also  the  chaplain  of  the 
prison  will  use  all  his  influence,"  replied  the  gentleman. 

And  they  took  leave  of  each  other. 

Benny  felt  all  the  weary  irksomeness  of  "  continued  im- 
prisonment." Each  day  it  grew  heavier  and  still  heavier. 

Neither  his  foster-father,  Tony  Brice,  nor  his  friend,  the 
Nut  Cracker  ever  came  near  him,  though  they  must  have 
known  his  condition.  And  their  neglect  hurt  Benny  more 
than  all  the  rest. 

Yet  for  all  that  he  would  not  "  peach  "  on  them — no, 
though  the  chaplain  and  the  lawyer  and  the  ladjy  argued 
with  him,  and  though  Eachel  Wood  and  Mary  Kempton 
and  little  Suzy  Juniper  wept  over  him,  he  stood  steadfast 
upon  the  false  principle  of  honor  he  had  been  taught. 

The  chaplain  of  the  prison  became  deeply  interested  in 
the  poor,  mistrained,  but  true-souled  child,  and  began  at  once 
to  improve  the  time  and  beguile  the  tedium  of  his  long  im- 
prisonment by  teaching  him  to  read,  write  and  cipher. 


THE     LITTLE     OUTCAST      IN      PRISON.       151 

This  was  the  very  first  opportunity  the  boy  had  ever  had 
of  learning  anything  of  the  sort. 

With  gratitude  and  eagerness  he  gave  himself  up  to  his 
lessons.  Never  had  teacher  a  more  willing,  attentive  and 
intelligent  pupil.  To  use  the  words  of  Mr.  Jerry  Juniper, 
"Benny  devoured  his  books." 

The  chaplain  set  him  lessons  every  day ;  and  whenever 
any  of  his  friends,  either  Mrs.  Melliss,  Kachel  Wood  or 
Mary  Kempton  would  come  to  visit  him,  and  to  renew  the 
subject  of  his  turning  Queen's  evidence,  Benny  would  decline 
that  discussion,  and  say  : 

"  But  if  you  would  only  please  to  hear  me  my  lessou." 

And  of  course  they  always  complied  with  his  request. 

And  thus,  by  his  bright  intelligence  and  zealous  attention, 
and  with  the  help  of  several  teachers,  Benny  rapidly  ad- 
vanced in  this  rudimentary  knowledge. 

He  also  received  moral  and  spiritual  light  from  the  reli- 
gious instructions  of  the  good  chaplain. 

He  was  grateful  and  docile,  and  he  was  also  quite  obe- 
dient, except  upon  the  one  point  of  refusing  to  give  up  the 
burglars.  There  was  no  moving  him  from  that. 

By  the  time  the  Sessions  opened,  Benny  had  learned  to 
read  the  New  Testament,  to  write  his  own  name,  and  to  work 
sums  in  the  first  four  rules  of  arithmetic.  Besides  this  he 
had  committed  to  memory  the  Ten  Commandments,  the 
Sermon  on  the  Mount,  and  several  of  Dr.  Watts'  hymns. 
But  he  never  learned  to  inform  against  his  confederates. 

When  he  was  engaged  in  his  simple  studies  he  seemed 
almost  happy.  And  at  all  times  he  was  very  patient — he 
never  complained.  Only  once  in  a  while,  with  a  sigh  that 
seemed  to  come  from  the  bottom  of  his  heart,  he  would 
breathe  forth  his  deepest  want. 

"  Oh,  I  wish  I  could  get  out !  " 

And  then  he  would  go  patiently  back  to  his  lessons. 

At  length  the  day  came,  and  the  Sessions  opened. 


152  A      NOBLE      LORD. 

CHAPTER  XV. 
BENNY'S  FATE. 

The  felon  outcast  of  the  land. — A.  A.  P. 

THE  sessions  of  the  Central  Criminal  Court  opened. 

It  was  a  wintry  morning  when  Benny  was  taken  from 
Newgate  jail  to  the  Old  Bailey  Court. 

And  London  saw  the  strange  spectacle  of  a  fair  child  in 
the  felon's  dock  !  a  gentle  child,  who  should  rather  have  been 
in  some  humane  reformatory  school. 

Overawed  by  the  bench  of  wigged  and  robed  and  ermined 
judges,  and  the  bar  of  wigged  and  gowned  lawyers,  and  the 
crowd  of  spectators  that  filled  the  hall,  the  poor  boy  stood 
panic-stricken  for  a  moment. 

Then  his  eye  wandered  timidly  over  the  assembly,  in 
search  of  some  friend  who  might  be  in  it.  But  he  saw  not 
one  kind  or  familiar  face.  If  his  friends  were  there,  they 
were  hidden  in  the  crowd. 

He  raised  his  blue  eyes  deprecatingly  to  the  bench  of 
judges,  and  then  turned  them  timidly  toward  the  bar  of 
lawyers  and  pleadingly  to  the  box  of  jurors. 

They  all  seemed  to  him  to  be  very  busy  about  something 
that  he  could  not  understand.  Again  his  weary  eyes  turned 
from  them  and  wandered  anxiously  over  the  sea  of  heads, 
searching  for  some  kind  face  to  comfort  him,  and  finding  not 
one. 

If  only  he  could  have  seen  his  foster-father  Tony  Brice, 
or  the  Nut  Cracker,  or  any  of  the  villains  for  whom  he  was 
innocently  suffering,  he  might  have  found  strength  to  bear 
his  troubles. 

But  to  be  deserted  by  them  all  in  this  hour  of  his  utmost 
need  !  To  stand  alone  in  the  dock  with  a  multitude  of  ene- 
mies around  him  !  His  burden  was  too  hard  to  bear.  His 
childish  heart  sunk  in  his  bosom,  and  he  burst  into  tears. 


B  E  N  N  Y    S     FATE. 


153 


"  Come,  come,  bully  boy,"  whispered  the  rough  turnkey 
who  had  him  in  charge,  "  brace  up  !  They  can't  hang  you, 
you  know  !  It's  only  transportation  at  worst !" 

"  Oh,  sir,"  said  Benny,  nervously  catching  hold  of  the 
turnkey's  trowsers,  "  don't  leave  rue  !  Stay  by  me,  please  ! 
stay  by  me,  please  !" 

"  I'm  going  to.  It's  my  duty,  you  know.  Here  now, 
take  my  pocket  handkercher  and  wipe  your  eyes.  1  wouldn't 
let  'em  see  me  crjr,  if  I  was  you." 

"  No  more  I  won't,"  said  Benny,  industriously  drying  his 
eyes.  "  'Cause  I  an't  been  up  to  nothink  whatsomedever." 

"  All  right,  then  ;  if  you  can  prove  that,  you're  cleared." 

"  But  I  can't  prove  nothink.  They  proves  whatsomedever 
they  pleases  ! "  said  the  boy. 

At  this  moment  an  awful  personage  in  a  long  black  gown 
and  a  full-bottomed  white  wig  came  to  the  side  of  the  dock, 
and  said : 

"  Well,  my  boy  !  " 

Benny,  appalled  by  the  gown  and  wig,  lost  all  his  new- 
found fortitude  and  trembled  from  head  to  foot,  as  if  he 
thought  his  last  hour  had  come. 

"  You  don't  seem  to  know  me,  my  boy  !  Your  advocate, 
Mr.  Freefield,"  smiled  the  apparition. 

"  Oh,  is  it  you,  sir  ?  Beg  pardon,  sir — I  didn't  know  you, 
indeed,"  replied  Benny,  gazing  in  ever  increasing  awe  upon 
the  black  gown  and  white  wig. 

"  I  came  to  tell  you  not  to  be  so  cast  down.  Be  of  good 
courage.  We  hope  that  all  will  go  well.  When  you  are 
arraigned — that  is  to  say,  when  the  clerk  asks  you  if  you 
are  guilty  or  not  guilty — you  must  stand  up,  bow  to  the  pre- 
siding judge — the  stout  old  gentleman  in  the  red  gown, 
ermine  cape  and  curled  wig,  sitting  in  the  middle  of  the 
others  on  the  bench — look  honestly  in  his  face  and  say,  'Not 
guilty,  my  lord.'  Can  you  do  this,  my  boy  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir  ;  'cause  I  an't  been  up  to  nothiuk,"  answered 
Benny. 


154  A     NOBLE      LOUD. 

"  I  believe  you,  my  poor  child.  Be  of  good  courage. 
Now  ! "  said  Mr.  Freefield,  as  he  moved  from  the  side  of 
the  dock. 

At  that  moment  the  Clerk  of  Arraigns  arose,  with  a 
formidable  document  in  his  hand,  and  proceeded  to  read  the 
indictment,  which,  divested  of  its  unintelligible  jargon, 
seemed  to  charge  the  prisoner,  Benjamin  Hurst,  with  felo- 
niously breaking  into  the  house  of  one  Charles  Faulkner, 
gentleman,  then  living  at  Sydenbam ;  with  purloining 
thence  a  large  quantit}'  of  valuable  property  belonging  to 
said  Charles  Faulkner;  and  with  making  an  assault  with 
intent  to  kill,  by  shooting  a  loaded  pistol  and  wounding 
seriously  the  person  of  one  Barnabas  Brierly ;  and  so  forth, 
and  so  forth,  and  so  forth. 

Benny  scarcely  understood  a  word  of  this  rhodomontade  ; 
but  when  asked  whether  he  were  "guilty,  or  not  guilty,"  he 
bowed  to  the  judge,  lifted  his  head,  and  answered  clearly  : 

"  Not  guilty,  my  lord." 

The  counsel  for  the  Crown  took  the  indictment  from  the 
Clerk  of  Arraigns,  and  proceeded  to  open  the  case  by  tell- 
ing the  gentlemen  of  the  jury  that  they  had  now  before 
them  one  of  the  most  abandoned  and  dangerous  young 
criminals  in  England,  if  not  in  the  world — a  monster  of 
juvenile  depravity  —  one  in  whom  crime  seemed  to  be 
hereditary  and  inexterminable — the  son  of  a  man  who  was 
a  confirmed  pickpocket  and  burglar,  who  was  much  more 
frequently  in  jail  than  out  of  it,  and  of  a  woman  who  was  a 
murderess,  and  had  been  tried  for  her  life  at  that  very  court, 
and  had  only  escaped  the  extreme  penalty  of  the  law  upon 
the  doubtful  plea  of  insanity,  and  who  was  now  expiating 
her  crimes  by  life-long  imprisonment  in  the  Criminal 
Lunatic  Asylum  ;  that  this  wretched  boy  had  been  a  thief 
from  his  infancy  up  to  his  present  age  ;  that  imprudently 
received  into  a  respectable  and  benevolent  family,  where  he 
was  treated  as  a  child  of  the  house,  he  had  thanklessly  and 


BENNY'S    FATE.  155 

basely  repaid  their  protection  and  fostering  care  by  bringing 
into  the  house  the  band  of  burglars  with  whom  he  was 
known  to  be  connected,  and  by  robbing  them  of  a  large 
quantity  of  plate,  jewels,  money  and  other  valuable  property, 
and  by  murderous  assault  upon  a  friend  and  guest  of  the 
house.  And  though  the  learned  counsel  for  the  defence 
might  pretend  to  say  that  his,  the  prisoner's  hand  never 
fired  the  pistol  that  wounded  Col.  Brierly,  yet  did  the  law 
hold  him  guilty  of  that  deadly  assault,  inasmuch  as  he  was 
confederated  with  the  wretches  who  made  it.  And  he 
hoped  that  both  judge  and  jury  would  do  their  duty  by 
punishing  with  the  utmost  rigor  of  the  law  a  crime  that 
was  known  to  be  fearfully  on  the  increase — and  so  forth, 
and  so  forth,  and  so  forth. 

At  the  end  of  his  opening  speech,  the  counsel  for  the 
Crown  called  his  witnesses. 

The  first  who  took  the  stand  was  the  widowed  Mrs. 
Faulkner,  who,  weeping  bitterly,  gave  her  evidence  regard- 
ing the  robbery,  which  bore  very  heavily  upon  the  little 
prisoner. 

The  next  witness  was  John  Briggs,  the  man  who  had 
seen  Benny  in  company  with  a  suspicious  looking  individual 
at  midnight,  on  the  night  of  the  robbery,  and  who  had 
heard  the  prisoner  give  his  companion  particular  directions 
how  to  find  and  enter  the  house,  by  a  door  that  he,  the 
prisoner,  had  left  open. 

This  evidence  was  still  harder  on  the  little  accused.  And 
the  severest  cross-examination  of  the  witness  by  the  coun- 
sel for  the  defence  did  not  tend  to  weaken  it  in  the  least 
degree. 

The  third  witness  was  Mr.  Baley,  the  man  who  had  come 
to  Captain  Faulkner's  assistance,  and  had  helped  to  carry 
the  wounded  Colonel  Brierly  to  the  house. 

He  testified  to  these  facts,  and  also  to  the  confused  condi- 
tion of  the  house,  several  of  the  rooms  of  which  bore  signs 


156  A      NOBLE      LORD. 

of  forcible  entry,  and  also  the  absence  of  Benny  from  the 
bed  where  he  usually  slept. 

This  witness  was  also  cross-examined  without  effect. 

The  last  witness  was  the  detective  who  had  arrested  the 
prisoner,  and  had  found  upon  his  person  the  little  gold 
thimble,  which  was  here  produced  and  identified  as  the 
property  of  Mrs.  Faulkner. 

When  these  witnesses  had  all  been  examined  and  cross- 
examined,  the  counsel  for  the  Crown  summed  up  the  evi- 
dence for  the  prosecution,  and  called  upon  the  jury  to  con- 
vict the  prisoner. 

But  then  Mr.  Freefield,  the  counsel  for  the  accused,  arose 
for  the  defence. 

Of  course  he  went  over  and  politely  contradicted  all  that 
the  counsel  for  the  Crown  had  stated  concerning  his  client. 

He  begged  the  gentlemen  of  the  jury  to  look  upon  that 
poor  child  in  the  dock,  and  see  if  they  could  find  in  his  fair 
face  and  open  brow  any  signs  of  that  hereditary  depravity 
and  personal  guilt  ascribed  to  him  by  the  learned  counsel 
for  the  Crown. 

This  boy  had  been  a  most  unfortunate  and  pitiable  child 
from  his  very  birth — a  worse  than  orphan,  cast  upon  the 
tender  mercies  of  the  thief  and  murderess  who  had  brought 
him  up,  and  yet  who,  thief  and  murderess  as  they  were, 
were  much  less  culpable  than  the  upnatural  parents  who 
had  given  this  fair  child  life,  and  then  abandoned  him  to 
his  fate. 

He  would  prove  that  this  boy,  so  far  from  being  the 
'•'monster  of  juvenile  depravity"  he  had  been  called  by  the 
counsel  for  the  Crown,  had  been,  from  his  infancy-  up,  gentle, 
obedient,  kind-hearted  and  generous.  Even  in  still  tenderer 
years  he  had  worked,  and  begged  when  he  could  not  work, 
to  support  an  aged  woman  and  a  sick  girl. 

He  would  prove  that,  while  the  boy  had  been  in  the  ser- 
vice of  Captain  Faulkner,  he  had  been  the  affectionate  com- 


BENNY'S    F  A  T  E.  157 

panion  and  protector  of  children  but  little  younger  than 
himself;  and  that  when  he  left  their  service,  he  did  so  iu 
fear  and  horror  of  their  guest,  who  had  terrified  him  with 
threats;  that  he  could  have  had  no  share  in  the  robbery 
with  which  he  stood  charged. 

He  would  prove  further,  that  while  the  boy  was  in 
prison  he  had  been  perfectly  gentle,  docile,  obedient  and 
anxious  to  please.  And  finally  the  advocate  said  he  should 
confidently  expect,  from  the  gentlemen  of  the  jury,  the 
acquittal  of  his  young  client. 

Then  the  counsel  for  the  prisoner  called  the  witnesses  for 
the  defence.  These  were  Jeremiah  Juniper,  and  his  wife 
Jane  Juniper,  llachel  Wood  and  Mary  Kempton.  Each, 
sworn  and  examined  in  turn,  testified  to  their  intimate 
knowledge  of  the  little  prisoner  from  his  infancy  to  the 
present  time;  they  each  bore  witness  to  his  gentleness  of 
manner,  kindness  of  heart,  obedience,  docility  and  generos- 
ity :  but,  Oh  sorrow !  when  cross-examined  by  the  counsel 
for  the  prosecution,  they  could  not  bear  witness  to  the  hon- 
esty or  truthfalness  of  the  poor  child,  who  had  been  taught 
theft  and  falsehood  as  sacred  duties  from  his  infancy  up  ! 
So  their  testimony  in  favor  of  the  poor  boy  broke  down. 

Mrs.  Melliss  and  the  jail  chaplain  were  called,  and  in 
turn  testified  to  the  perfectly  blameless  conduct  of  the  gen- 
tle boy  while  suffering  imprisonment. 

But  being  cross-examined,  they  were  in  turn  forced  to 
admit  that  the  little  prisoner  was  obstinate  in  his  deter- 
mination never  to  give  up  the  names  of  the  burglars  who 
had  robbed  his  master's  house. 

So  their  testimony  in  favor  of  the  little  prisoner  was  also 
much  weakened. 

The  defence  rested. 

The  Judge  arose  and  summed  up  the  evidence  on  both 
sides,  bearing  very  heavily  on  the  young  prisoner. 

In  conclusion,  he  said  that  the  accused,  being  confederated 


A      NOBLE      LORD. 

with  the  criminals  who  had  perpetrated  the  burglary  and 
made  the  assault  with  intent  to  kill,  and  shielding  them  now 
by  his  silence,  was  in  law  held  equally  guilty  with  them  of 
the  burglary  and  the  attempt  to  kill,  and  that  the  jury  would 
find  a  verdict  in  accordance  with  the  facts. 

And  so  he  left  the  case  in  their  hands. 

The  jury  asked  and  obtained  leave  to  retire  to  consider 
their  verdict. 

And  they  left  the  court  room  in  charge  of  a  bailiff. 

Then,  there  being  nothing  else  to  do,  the  judge  fell  to 
reading  his  Times,  and  the  lawyers  lounged  about,  or  went 
out  to  get  a  glass  of— pure  water,  of  course. 

Benny's  friends  took  the  opportunity  of  coming  up  to 
speak  to  him. 

The  chaplain  and  Mrs.  Melliss  came  first. 

"  Oh,  missus,"  said  the  child,  "  I  do  thank  you  for  speak 
ing  a  good  word  for  me.  And  do  you  think  they  will  let  me 
off?"  he  asked  patheticall}'. 

"  I  don't  know,  my  poor  boy.  But  even  if  you  should  be 
convicted,  there  may  be  still  hope ;  for  you  may  receive  a 
full  pardon  on  condition  of  giving  up  that  band  of  burglars," 
said  the  lady. 

"  I  never  will  get  off  on  them  terms,  missus,"  sadly 
replied  the  boy. 

Then  he  turned  to  the  chaplain,  and  said  : 

"  Your  reverence  don't  think,  do  your  reverence,  as  I'm  as 
wicked  as  that  first  gentleman  made  me  out  to  be." 

"No,  my  poor  boy,  I  certainly  do  not,"  answered  the 
chaplain. 

Kachel  Wood  and  Mary  Kempton  and  the  Junipers  were 
waiting  modestly  for  their  turn  to  come  up  and  speak  to 
Benny  ;  but  before  the  opportunity  came  there  was  a  stir  at 
the  upper  end  of  the  hall,  caused  by  the  entrance  of  the 

jury- 

The  friends  around  the  prisoner  dispersed  to  their  seats. 


BENNY    S      FATE. 

The  crier  called  order.  The  judges  settled  their  wigs.  The 
lawyers  resumed  their  seats.  The  spectators  became  atten- 
tive. And  the  Clerk  of  Arraigns  inquired  : 

"Gentlemen  of  the  jury,  have  you  agreed  upon  your  ver- 
dict ?  " 

"  We  have." 

"Do  you  find  Benjamin  Hurst,  the  prisoner  at  the  bar, 
guilty,  or  not  guilty  of  the  felony  wherewith  he  stands  in- 
dicted ?  " 

"Guilty." 

There  was  a  pause  of  a  few  minutes.  Then  a  few  formula 
were  gone  through  with ;  and  then  the  little  prisoner  was 
told  to  stand  up. 

Benny  arose  and  once  more  bowed  to  the  bench,  thinking, 
perhaps,  poor  child  !  that  a  little  politeness  here  might  help 
his  sad  case. 

The  judge,  in  pronouncing  sentence,  told  the  little  prisoner 
that  he  had  had  a  fair  and  impartial  trial ;  that  he  had  been 
convicted  of  burglary  in  the  first  degree,  by  an  intelligent 
and  conscientious  jury  ;  that  the  crime  of  burglary,  as  the 
learned  counsel  for  the  crown  had  stated,  was  fearfully  on  the 
increase ;  that  there  seemed  really  no  security  for  life  or 
property  in  the  metropolis ;  that  the  most  skillful  and  effec- 
tive aids  of  the  burglars  were  the  boys,  called  among  them- 
selves "  snakesmen,"  and  employed  to  enter  houses  through 
such  apertures  as  small  panels,  windows,  or  side  lights,  as 
would  be  inaccessible  to  the  passage  of  men ;  that  but  for 
these  "snakesmen"  many  successful  burglaries  could  not  be 
accomplished ;  that  he,  the  prisoner  at  the  bar,  had  proved 
himself  a  most  daring,  expert  and  unscrupulous  abettor  of 
the  burglars  whom  he  had  admitted  to  rob  his  master's 
house,  and  all  but  murder  his  master's  guest;  that  his  crime 
was  all  the  more  heinous  and  detestable,  because  that  master 
had  been  his  kind  protector  and  confiding  friend  ;  that  it  be- 
hooved judges,  in  the  face  of  all  these  facts,  to  punish  such 


160  A     NOBLE      LORD. 

crimes  with  the  utmost  rigor  of  the  law;  that  the  extreme 
penalty  of  the  law  for  burglary  in  the  first  degree,  where 
there  had  been  assault  with  intent  to  kill,  was  transportation 
for  life  ;  but  that,  in  consideration  of  his,  the  little  prison- 
er's youth,  he — the  judge — should  sentence  him  to  transpor- 
tation to  the  penal  colonies  for  the  term  of  fourteen  years 
only;  that,  in  conclusion,  he  would  remark,  if  he,  the  young 
prisoner,  could  be  brought  into  such  a  frame  of  mind  as  to 
understand  his  duty  to  his  sovereign  and  his  country,  and 
conld  be  induced  to  give  such  information  to  the  proper 
authorities  as  should  lead  to  the  apprehension  and  convic- 
tion of  the  dangerous  band  of  burglars  with  whom  he  was 
connected,  then  he  might  be  considered  a  proper  subject  for 
the  mercy  of  the  crown,  and  find  it  in  the  commutation  of 
his  sentence,  if  not  in  a  full  pardon. 

Having  concluded,  the  judge  ordered  the  prisoner  to  be 
removed. 

And  the  crier  of  the  court  called  the  next  case. 

The  turnkey  and  another  officer  led  Benny  from  the  dock. 
The  boy  was  too  bewildered  by  the  address  of  the  judge  to 
have  any  very  clear  conception  of  his  own  condition.  Many 
who  watched  him  thought  him  stupid  and  insensible  ;  but 
he  was  not  either. 

As  they  led  him  away,  Rachel  Wood  and  Mary  Kempton 
met  him. 

"  Don't  be  discouraged,  Benny.  You  may  yet  be  saved," 
said  Rachel. 

"  For  you  heard  what  the  judge  said  about  the  pardon," 
added  Mary. 

"  I  know ;  but  I  can't  be  pardoned  'less  I  peach,  and  I'll 
never  do  that.  No,  I'll  be  lagged  for  fourteen  year!  Think 
of  it !  Might  just  as  well  be  for  life,  you  know.  And — 
and — I  wouldn't  mind  so  much  if  it  wa'n't — wa'n't  for  leav- 
ing Suzy !"  added  the  boy,  bursting  into  tears  and  sobbing 
as  if  his  heart  would  break." 


BENNY'S    FATE.  161 

Mary  and  Rachel  would  have  tried  to  comfort  him,  but 
the  turnkeys  were  obliged  to  hurry  him  out  of  the  way. 

As  the  little  prisoner  passed  out  of  the  hall  he  noticed  in 
the  crowd  of  miserable  wretches  around  the  building,  two 
men  more  miserable  looking  than  any  of  their  companions. 

They  were  Tony  Brice  and  the  Nut  Cracker ! 

"  Daddy ! "  cried  the  boy  gladly,  eagerly  stretching  out 
Ills  hand  toward  his  foster-father. 

Tony  heard  him,  but  immediately  slunk  away  and  hid 
himself  in  the  crowd. 

"And  I  only  wanted  to  whisper  to  him  that  I  would 
never  peach,"  said  the  child  to  himself,  weeping  from  his 
wounded  heart,  as  they  led  him  away  to  his  cell  in  New- 
gate. 

Meanwhile  Tony  Brice  and  the  Nut  Cracker  slunk  away 
to  the  den  of  guilt  they  called  their  home. 

Even  Tony  Brice,  low  as  he  had  fallen,  bad  as  he  was, 
felt  ashamed  of  himself  for  having  deserted  the  boy  and 
left  him  to  suffer  for  his  crimes. 

"  It's  hard  on  the  kid  !  It's  deuced  hard  on  the  kid !  " 
he  said,  blowing  his  nose. 

"  Oh,  bosh  !  none  of  that,  you  know.  Hard  on  the  kid  ! 
What's  hard  on  the  kid?  To  go  a  sea  v'yge  ?  Why,  lots 
of  b'ys  run  away  and  go  to  sea  for  the  fun  o'  the  thing," 
answered  the  Nut  Cracker. 

"It  is  hard  to  be  lagged  for  fourteen  year,  for  a  thing  he 
never  done — that  it  is,"  said  Tony. 

"  Oh,  the  devil !  What's  fourteen  year  in  a  forring  coun- 
try at  his  age,  and  come  back  a  young  man  in  his  prime, 
with  plenty  of  experience  ?  Nothing !  If  it  had  a  been 
you,  now,  'stead  o'  he,  you  wouldn't  a  got  off  with  no  four- 
teen year !  You'd  a  been  a  lifer,  you  would  !  " 

"That's  so,"  agreed  Tony,  with  a  sigh. 

"And  besides,  he  an't  gone  yet.     You  heard  what  the 
judges  said  about  a  parding?  " 
10 


162  A     NOBLE     LORD. 

"  Yes,  on  conditions  he'd  peach." 

"  Well,  he  may  peach  yet." 

"  Who  ?  Benny  ?  Benny  peach  ?  T  wish  T  was  as  sure 
of  a  ten  pound  note  to-day  as  I  am  that  Benny'll  never 
peach.  Benny'd  die  before  he'd  peach  !  " 

"Well,  may  be  so!  And  now  let's  talk  of  something 
else. — There's  a  plant !  "  added  the  man  in  a  whisper,  as 
they  both  entered  the  dilapidated  house  in  which  they 
lived. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 
BENNY'S    STRUGGLE. 

God  will  judge  thee  and  them  aright. — A.  A.  P. 

THEKE  was  a  convict  transport  ship  to  sail  in  a  few  days, 
and  Benny  was  doomed  to  be  sent  out  in  her. 

It  was  ascertained,  however,  from  the  highest  authority, 
that  a  full  pardon  would  be  given  him  on  condition  that  he 
would  give  such  information  as  should  lead  to  the  apprehen- 
sion and  conviction  of  the  burglars  whose  "snakeMQ^n"  he 
was  supposed  to  have  been. 

But  the  poor  boy  had  still  his  mistaken  spirit  of  honor 
within  him,  and  would  suffer  anything  rather  than  betray 
his  foster-father  and  false  friends. 

A  day  or  two  before  the  transport  was  to  sail,  and  while 
yet  there  was  a  last  chance  left  for  the  little  prisoner,  his 
true  friends  resolved  to  make  one  final  appeal  to  him. 

Mrs.  Melliss,  Rachel  Wood  aud  little  Suzy  Juniper  went 
to  him  in  company. 

They  found  him  in  his  cell,  at  his  lessons,  pale  and 
patient,  as  usual. 

"What  are  you  studying  this  morning,  my  poor  boy?" 
inquired  Mrs.  Melliss,  after  the  first  greetings  were  over. 


BENNY'S    STRUGGLE.  163 

"Only  my  reading  lesson  in  my  '  Second  School  Beader,' 
missus,"  answered  Benny,  lifting  bis  sad,  blue  eyes  to  the 
lady's  face. 

"  Does  the  Chaplain  still  hear  your  lessons  ?  " 
'•  Oh  yes,  missus,  every  day." 
"And  you  like  his  instructions?" 
"  Better'n  anything  in  the  world,  missus." 
"  And  you  wouldn't  like  to  lose  them  forever  ?  " 
"  No  indeed,  missus." 

"  But,  my  poor  child,  unless  you  follow  our  counsel  and 
do  as  we  wish  you  to  do,  you  will  have  to  give  them  up  in 
two  days,  and  give  them  up  forever.  You  will  find  no  in- 
structors in  Van  Dieman's  Land,  my  boy,"  said  the  lady, 
with  her  eyes  full  of  tears. 

Benny  turned  a  shade  paler  and  looked  down  at  the  open 
book  on  his  knees. 

"  But,  my  child,  if  you  will  do  as  we  wish  you — if  you 
will  win  your  full  pardon  by  giving  information  against  the 
evil  men  who  have  brought  you  to  this  pass — if  you  will  do 
this,  then  you  shall  have  even  better  instruction,  under  bet- 
ter circumstances  than  you  can  possible  get  here.  You 
shall  learn  not  onty  what  you  are  learning  here,  but  every 
thing  else  that  you  have  the  inclination  and  capacity  to 
learn." 

The  boy  raised  his  head,  his  whole  face  beaming  with  a 
look  of  eager  longing  and  delightful  anticipation  ;  but  the 
next  instant  its  expression  changed  to  one  of  sadness  and 
despair,  and  he  dropped  his  eyes  once  more  upon  his  book. 

"  There  is  to  be — "  began  the  lady ;  but  watching  the 
boy  with  his  sensitive  and  changing  face,  her  voice  broke 
down,  and  she  faltered,  "  Tell  him  the  rest,  Eachel.  The 
child  distresses  me  so,  I  cannot  continue." 

"  Listen,  Benny,"  said  Kachel,  sitting  down  by  him  and 
taking  his  hand. 

"  You  have  heard — for  even  you,  poor  little  fellow  as  you 


164  A      NOBLE      LORD. 

are,  must  have  heard  of  the  beautiful  Duchess  of  Cheviot, 
who  is  so  distinguished  for  her  benevolence?  " 

"Oh,  yes,  indeed,"  said  Benny,  his  whole  face  brighten- 
ing at  the  recollection  ;  "I  seen  her  once  too.  At  Briting, 
you  know.  I  told  you  all  about  it." 

"  Yes,  I  remember ;  it  was  at  the  Duke's  marine  residence 
on  Brunswick  Terrace,  Brighton,  where  the  little  Ladies 
Douglas  had  you  called  in,  and  gave  you  a  piece  of  their 
Twelfth-day  cake." 

"  Oh,  yes  ;  I  seen  her  then.     She  was  lovely." 

"  Have  you  ever  seen  the  Duchess  since  ?  " 

"No;  but  I've  dreamed  of  her — oh,  so  many  times.  I 
never  told  nobody ;  but  I  have." 

"  I  don't  wonder." 

"And  at  the  'Ospital,  you  know;  when  I  was  ill,  you 
know.  I  used  to  dream  as  she'd  come  and  look  over  me, 
and  lay  her  hand  on  my  head.  And  once  I  dreamed  as  her 
tears  fell  warm  on  my  face.  And  then,  bless  you !  I 
dreamed  as  it  wasn't  no  dream,  and  I  tried  to  wake  up. 
Wasn't  that  funny?" 

"  My  poor  child  !  That  was  no  dream  at  all.  The  beau- 
tiful Duchess  went  to  see  the  sick  children  in  the  Hospital 
very  frequently.  And  she  used  to  linger  by  your  bod,  and 
bend  over  you  and  sometimes  weep  for  pity.  And  in  your 
semi-delirium  -  you  must  have  been  half  conscious  of  her 
presence,  though  we  never  suspected  it." 

"  You — don't — say — so ! "  said  Benny,  pondering.  "  And 
that  lovely  lady  came  to  see  me  when  I  was  ill,  and  I  didn't 
know  it!  I  thought  as  it  was  nothing  but  a  dream.  Oh,  I 
wish  I  had  knowed  for  true !  I  think  then,  if  I  had 
knowed  it  for  true,  I  could  a  waked  up  to  see  her,  I  would 
a  tried  so  hard.  Oh,  I  wish  I  could  get  out  and  go  to  the 
Park  once  more.  And  then  I  would  watch  till  I  would  see 
her  carriage  go  by.  And  the  little  Earl — oh,  au't  he  a 
swell,  neither  ?  He  gave  me  a  pair  of  shoes  once,  he  did ! 
Oh,  I  wish  I  could  get  out ! " 


BENNY'S    STRUGGLE.  165 

"  My  poor  boy,  even  if  you  could  get  out,  you  could  not 
see  the  Duchess,  nor  any  of  her  children.  They  are  all 
spending  the  winter  in  Florence,  on  account  of  the  little 
Lady  Hester's  health,  which  is  delicate." 

"  /  know  her.  She  was  the  littlest  lady  of  all.  But 
wasn't  you  agoing  to  tell  ine  something  about  something?  " 

"  Yes,  my  boy.  I  was  going  to  tell  you  that  the  good 
and  beautiful  Duchess,  whose  wealth  is  almost  equal  to  her 
benevolence,  feeling  a  deep  compassion  for  poor  neglected 
children  like  you,  is  about  to  establish  a  poor  boys'  board- 
ing school,  where  boys  are  to  be  lodged  and  boarded,  clothed 
and  taught." 

Benny  listened  with  his  whole  face  intent  with  interest. 

"  And  where  boys  of  superior  talents — like  you,  Beuny-^ 
are  to  be  instructed  in  the  higher  branches  of  science  and 
literature,  and  even  prepared  to  enter  a  college  or  to  study 
a  profession. 

Benny's  face  ever  increased  in  interest. 

"And,  child,  a  highly  educated  young  curate  is  to  be  the 
Head  Master  of  the  school.  And  I,  your  old  friend,  am  to 
be  the  matron,  and  to  look  after  the  boys'  clothes  and 
meals." 

"  Oh  ! — My  ! — Won't  that  be  BULLY  ! "  exclaimed  the 
boy,  with  a  short  gasp  of  surprise  and  delight.  "  And 
Billy  and  Tommy  and  Johnny  Juniper  can  go,  can't  they  ?  " 
he  added,  in  his  sweet  unselfishness. 

"  Yes,  Benny,  perhaps ;  though  the  school  is  to  be 
founded  for  a  much  poorer  and  more  needy  class  of  boys 
than  the  stage  carpenter's.  But  you  can  certainly  go, 
Benny." 

"  Oh,  I  wish  I  could  !  Oh,  I  wish  I  could  ! "  said  the 
boy,  clasping  and  unclasping  his  hands  nervously. 

"  And  so  you  can,  Benny.  It  lies  with  yourself.  Does 
it  not,  Mrs.  Melliss  ?  "  said  Rachel,  appealing  to  the  lady. 

"  It  does  indeed,  my  boy.     You  have  only  to  give  the  in- 


166  A     NOBLE     LORD. 

formation  that  is  required  of  you,  to  win  a  full  pardon. 
Then  you  will  be  set  free  from  this  prison.  Then  you  will 
be  entered  into  the  Duchess'  school,  where  you  will  be 
cleanly  and  comfortably  lodged  and  boarded,  clothed  and 
instructed ;  where  you  will  be  under  the  constant  care  of 
your  old  friend,  Miss  Wood  here,  who  will  always  be  like  a 
mother  to  you ;  and  where  you  will  frequently  see  the 
beautiful  Duchess  who  was  so  kind  to  you,  and  who  will 
of  course,  be  a  frequent  visitor  at  her  own  school ;  and 
finally,  where  you  may  not  only  learn  the  common  and  in- 
dispensable branches  of  knowledge,  but  where  you  may  be 
instructed  in  the  higher  branches  of  literature  and  science, 
and  be  prepared  to  enter  college,  or  to  study  the  profession 
of  your  choice,  as  Rachel  has  already  told  you." 

"  Oh  !  I  wish  I  could !  Oh  !  I  wish,  I  could ! "  pa- 
thetically repeated  the  boy,  still  nervously  clasping  and  un- 
clasping his  hands. 

"  And  so  you  can,  my  child,  if  you  please." 

"  Oh,  no,  no,  no,  I  can't,  missus  !  I  can't,  unless  I  in- 
form against — never  mind  who.  And  I  can't  turn  informer 
against  them." 

"  What  lamentable  folly  to  think  that  you  cannot !  My 
child,  it  is  your  sacred  duty  to  inform  against  those  law- 
breakers," said  Mrs.  Melliss. 

But  Benny  only  shook  his  head,  resolving  to  remain 
silent  as  death  upon  that  subject,  no  matter  what  might  be- 
come of  him. 

"  Please,  ma'am,  let  me  try  now,"  whispered  Suzy  to 
Mrs.  Melliss. 

The  lady  nodded  assent,  and  Suzy  went  and  sat  down  on 
the  bench  beside  Benny,  and  said  : 

"  Listen  to  me,  Benny." 

"  Don't  Suzy  !  don't  say  nothing  to  tempt  me  to  peach. 
It's  no  use,  and  it  hurts  so  to  refuse  you,"  pleaded  the  boy. 

"  But  I  must,  Benny.     There's  only  t\vo  more  days  to  try 


BENNY'S    STRUGGLE.  167 

and  save  you!  Oh,  Benny,  dear,  just  listen  to  me!  I'm 
going  to  talk  about  myself  now." 

""Well,  I'll  hear  you  talk  about  yourself,  willing." 

"  Well,  then,  Benny,  next  week  I  am  to  go  to  Paris  witli 
Madame  Vesta,  to  enter  ou  the  course  of  study  and  practice 
that  is  to  make  me,  she  says,  a  celebrated  prima  donna. 
Think  of  that,  Benny." 

"  Oh  !  that  is  bully !  I'm  so  glad,  Su/y  !  How  happy 
you  will  be  !  "  exclaimed  the  boy,  smiling  brightly,  in  sym- 
pathy with  her  good  fortune. 

"  Yes,  but  I'm  not  glad ;  and  I  shall  not  be  happy.  No 
matter  how  fortunate  I  may  be,  how  could  I  be  glad  or 
happy,  knowing  that  you  were  away  out  there  among  stran- 
gers and  taskmasters  in  the  convict  colonies  for  fourteen 
long  years?  I  should  be  so  miserable,  Benny,  that  I  don't 
believe  I  ever  could  become  a  great  prima  donna,"  said 
Suzy,  weeping. 

Benny  burst  into  tears,  and  su')bed  until  his  whole  small 
frame  shook  with  emotion. 

"  Oh,  don't  cry  so  hard,  Benny !  Please  don't,"  ^aid  the 
little  girl,  embracing  him.  "You  know  you  can  change  it 
all,  and  make  us  quite  happy." 

Benny  shook  his  head  sadly. 

"But  now  look  ou  the  bright  side  just  one  minute, 
Benny.  Supposing  you  should  give  the  information  that  is 
wanted,  and  win  your  full  pardon  and  get  out  of  this,  then 
you'd  be  put  into  the  Duchess'  school,  and  be  so  clean  and 
comfortable  and  happy.  And  you  would  be  training  for  a 
profession  there,  while  I  should  be  training  for  the  opera  in 
Paris.  And  in  the  holiday  times  you  could  even  come  over 
to  Paris  to  see  me ;  and  whenever  I  should  come  to  London 
to  see  my  mother,  I  would  go  to  your  school  to  see  you. 
And  so  we  could  visit  each  other  and  compare  notes  about 
how  we  got  on  in  our  education,  and  be  a  pleasure  to  each 
other  and  to  our  friends.  But  you  would  be  the  best  of  all 


1G8  A      NOBLE     LORD. 

pleasures  to  me,  Beany,"  said  the  little  girl,  her  face  beam- 
ing with  bright  anticipation. 

"  Oh,  I  wish  I  could  !  I  tvish  I  could  !  "  sighed  the  boy 
from  the  depths  of  his  troubled  heart. 

"And  then,"  continued  Suzy,  who  saw  she  was  moving 
him,  "then.  Benny,  in  a  few  years  we  should  both  of  us 
grow  up.  And  I  should  be  a  prima  donna  at  the  grand 
opera,  and  you — they  say  you've  got  such  talents,  Benny  ! 
— you  would  be  a  great  lawyer,  and  may  be  a  member  of 
parliament.  And  we,  who  lived  together  when  we  were 
babies  in  Junk  Lane,  would  live  together  in  a  palace  in 
May  Fair !  And  we  two  would  clothe  the  ragged  and  feed 
the  hungry,  and  build  schools  for  the  poor  children." 

"  Oh !  I  wish  I  could  !     I  wish  I  could  !  "  sobbed  Benny. 

"  Oh,  you  can,  child  !  You  can,  if  you  will  only  think 
so! "  said  Mrs.  Melliss,  Rachel  Wood  and  Suzy  Juniper,  all 
speaking  at  once. 

"  Oh,  no,  no,  no,  I  can't !  I  can't !  It  an't  for  me !  It 
an't  for  me ! "  sobbed  the  boy,  falling  and  rolling  on  the 
stone  floor  of  the  cell,  utterly  overcome  by  the  agony  of 
renunciation. 

"You  might  tear  that  boy  limb  from  limb  with  wild 
horses,  but  you'd  never  move  him  from  that  point,  mum,'' 
said  a  turnkey,  who  now  made  his  appearance  to  tell  the 
visitors  that  "time  was  up,"  which  meant  that  they  were 
to  take  leave  and  go. 

"Good-bye,  Benny!  Oh!  you  poor  child,  good-bye!" 
said  Mrs.  Melliss,  holding  out  her  hand  to  the  boy. 

He  raised  himself  from  his  fallen  position  and  gave  his 
hand  to  the  lady,  sobbing. 

"  You're  not  mad  long  o'  me,  because  I  can't  peach,  mis- 
sus, be  you  ?  " 

"  Mad !  no,  my  poor  child,  only  deeply  grieved ;  for  cer- 
tainly your  inability  to  do  so,  wherever  it  comes  from,  is 
harder  on  you  than  on  any  one  else." 


BENNY'S    STRUGGLE.  169 

"  And  you'll  come  and  see  me  once  more,  missus,  before 
they  take  me  away  ?  " 

"Yes,  my  boy;  I  will  come  again  to-morrow." 

"  And  bring  Suzy  ?  " 

"And  bring  Suzy." 

"  And  you,  Miss  Rachel — will  you  come  ?  And  tell  Mr. 
Juniper  and  Mary  Kempton.  I  want  to  bid  'em  all  good- 
bye, before  they  take  me  away." 

"Yes,  my  poor  child.  All  shall  come  to  take  leave  of 
you,"  answered  Rachel. 

"  Oh !  I  wish  I  could  see  the  little  Faulkner  children  once 
more  before  I  go.  But  that's  impossible.  But,  oh  !  please, 
Mrs.  Melliss,  ma'am,  please  tell  'em  as  I  never  helped  to 
rob  the  master's  house." 

''I  will  tell  them,  Benny,  and  they  shall  believe  it,"  an- 
swered the  lady. 

And  then  they  all  took  leave  of  the  boy,  and  followed  the 
turnkey  out  of  the  cell. 

In  the  hall  outside  they  met  the  chaplain,  on  his  way 
to  visit  the  little  prisoner. 

The  reverend  gentleman  warmly  greeted  Mrs.  Melliss  and 
her  companions,  and  then  eagerly  inquired  : 

"  Have  you  succeeded  in  persuading  him  to  give  informa- 
tion against  those  burglars  ?  " 

"Ah,  no!  he  is  immovable  on  that  point  although  the 
prospects  we  held  out  to  him  were  so  bright  and  alluring. 
Oh  !  sir,  if  you  had  seen  that  poor  child's  agony,  in  re- 
nouncing all  that  we  offered  him — liberty,  home,  education, 
friends,  prosperity — all  upon  a  false  idea  of  honor !  " 

"Ah  !  what  strength  to  do  and  bear  and  suffer  is  in  that 
young  heart !  Oh  !  if  it  had  but  been  trained  aright !  " 
sighed  the  chaplain. 

"And  I  am  so  pained  to  think  that  now  he  must  go  out  in 
that  transport  ship,  among  the  most  hardened  criminals, 
and  with  no  good  influences  around  him  !  " 


170  A      NOBLE     LORD. 

"  But  be  comforted  a  little,  madame.  He  will  have  good 
influence.  A  Christian  missionary  is  going  out  in  the  same 
ship.  I  have  recommended  this  hoy  to  his  especial  atten- 
tion." 

"  Oh,  I  am  so  pleased  to  hear  you  say  that ! "  said  the 
lady. 

,  But  the  turnkey  who  was  to  see  the  visitors  out,  seemed 
so  very  impatient,  that  the  lady  and  her  companions  imme- 
diately took  leave  of  the  chaplain  and  left  the  prison. 

Faithful  to  their  promise,  they  went  the  next  day  to  New- 
gate, to  make  still  another  appeal  to  the  young  prisoner,  and 
if  it  should  not  prove  successful,  to  take  a  final  leave  of  him. 

On  applying  at  the  gate  for  admission,  they  were  told — HE 

WAS  GONE. 

"  '  GONE  ! '  "  they  echoed  simultaneously. 

"  Yes,  gone,"  answered  the  turnkey ;  "  took  off  by  Black 
Maria*  at  seven  o'clock  this  morning." 

"  But  was  not  that  a  day  sooner  than  was  expected  ?  "  in- 
quired Mrs.  Melliss. 

"  It  were,  ma'am,  certainly;  but  it's  none  o'  my  business." 

"  Where  is  the  transport  ship  ?  " 

"  At  Gravesend,  ma'am  if  so  be  she  have  not  sailed  ; 
which  they  were  to  sail  as  soon  as  the  tide  served,  after  get- 
ting the  convicts  aboard." 

"  Rachel,  Mary,  Suzy,  we  will  speed  down  to  Gravesend  ! 
We  may  be  in  time  to  take  leave  of  him  on  the  ship,"  said 
Mrs.  Melliss. 

And  they  hurried  out  of  the  prison  and  into  their  cab. 
And  they  feed  the  cabman  heavily  to  make  double  time  ; 
And  they  sped  to  Gravesend  and  down  to  the  water-side. 

They  inquired  for  the  convict  transport  ship. 

They  were  told  that  she  had  sailed,  but  that  they  might 
yet  catch  a  glimpse  of  her  canvas  as  she  stood  out  to  sea. 

*  The  prison  van. 


TRIUMPHS     OF     TIME.  171 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

TRIUMPHS    OF    TIME. — THE   YOUNG   PKIMA    DONNA. 

Hers  was  the  spell  o'er  hearts 

Which  only  Acting  lends, 
The  youngest  of  the  Sister  Arts, 

Whore  all  their  beauty  blends  ; 
For,  by  the  gifted  Actress  brought, 

Illusion's  perfect  triumphs  come; 
Verse  ceases  to  be  airy  thought. 

And  Sculpture  to  be  dumb. — CAMPBELL. 

FOURTEEN  years  have  passed  since  our  poor  little  outcast, 
Benny  Hurst,  was  transported  to  the  penal  colony  of  Van 
Dieman's  Land,  to  expiate  a  crime  he  never  committed,  and 
since  our  pretty  little  "prodigy,"  Suzy  Juniper,  was  taken 
to  Paris  to  be  trained  in  her  beautiful  art. 

These  years  have  brought  their  trials  and  triumphs,  and 
wrought  their  changes  for  good  or  for  evil,  upon  all  the  per- 
sons concerned  in  our  true  story. 

The  Duke  and  Duchess  of  Cheviot,  first  in  honor  as  in 
place,  are  now  a  stately  couple  in  early  middle  age. 

They  have  a  grown-up  family  around  them :  one  hand- 
some and  talented  son,  and  six  beautiful  and  amiable 
daughters. 

Their  son,  the  Earl  of  Wellrose,  has  faithfully  kept  the 
promise  of  his  boyhood  as  to  the  good  he  should  do  when 
he  should  "grow  to  be  a  man."  He  now  represents  his 
native  borough  of  Cheviot,  in  the  House  of  Commons,  and 
devotes  all  the  powers  of  his  fine  mind  to  originating,  sup- 
porting and  forwarding  all  wise,  good  and  great  measures 
for  the  prevention  of  crime,  the  relief  of  suffering,  the  ele- 
vation of  the  working  classes,  and  for  the  general  improve- 
ment of  the  human  race. 

Their  eldest  daughter,  the  Lady  Jessie  Douglas,  after 
having  been  presented  at  Court,  and  having  been  crowned 
the  reigning  belle  of  the  season,  gave  her  hand  in  marriage 


172  A     NOBLE     LORD. 

to  the  Viscount  Moray,  eldest  son  and  heir  of  the  Earl  of 
Ornoch. 

Their  second  daughter,  Lady  Clemence  Douglas,  in  her 
turn  presented,  admired  and  flattered,  ended  her  first  season 
by  marrying  young  Elphiustoue  of  Elphinstone.  This  was 
not  so  brilliant  a  marriage  as  that  of  her  elder  sister,  but  it 
was,  nevertheless,  a  very  happy  one,  and,  as  such,  quite  sat- 
isfactory to  her  parents. 

Their  next  two  daughters,  Ladies  Hester  and  Eva,  had 
been  but  very  recently  presented.  They  were  as  beautiful 
and  as  much  sought  in  marriage  as  their  lovely  elder  sisters 
had  been,  but  they  were  still  unwedded. 

Their  two  youngest  daughters,  the  Ladies  Maud  and 
Mary,  were  still  in  the  school-room. 

So  much  for  the  Duke  and  Duchess  of  Cheviot  and  their 
family. 

Of  the  Earl  of  Ornoch  and  of  his  Countess,  whom  we  first 
knew  as  the  beautiful  Anglo-Indian,  Hinda  Chimboza,  it  is 
only  necessary  to  say  that,  having  married  their  only  son, 
the  Viscount  Moray,  to  the  lovely  Lady  Jessie  Douglas, 
they  had  but  one  remaining  wish — to  give  their  one  sweet 
daughter,  Lady  Hinda  Moray,  in  marriage  to  the  handsome 
and  distinguished  young  Earl  of  Wellrose. 

And  Rumor  says  that  the  Earl  is  "  nothing  loath "  to 
accept  the  priceless  gift. 

The  Elphinstoues  of  Elphinstone,  whom  we  knew  in  their 
youth  as  Captain  Frank  Harry  and  Lady  Margaret  Doug- 
las, are  blessed  with  a  numerous  family,  the  eldest  of  which, 
a  son,  married,  as  we  know,  the  second  daughter  of  the 
Duke  of  Cheviot. 

And  the  wealthy  banker,  Walter  Melliss,  and  his  lovely 
young  wife  Angela?  What  of  them? 

In  years  the  banker  has  grown  old,  but  he  is  still  enjoy- 
ing a  vigorous  and  "  green  old-age." 

His  lovely  wife  is  no  longer  young,  but  is  if  possible  more 


TRIUMPHS      OF     TIME.  173 

beautiful  in  her  ripe  maturity  than  she  had  ever  been  even 
in  her  youth. 

Poor  Molly  Faulkner  never  married  again  ;  but  devoted 
and  still  devotes  herself  to  the  care  of  her  children,  now 
grown,  or  fast  growing  up.  They  live  in  a  pretty  villa  at 
Brompton. 

The  Duchess'  School  for  Indigent  Boys  still  flourishes 
under  the  care  of  the  Reverend  Mr.  Miles  as  Head  Master 
and  Miss  Rachel  Wood  as  Matron.  Rachel  has  kept  her 
word  never  to  marry.  Her  whole  affections  are  fixed  upon 
her  adopted  boy.  He  is  a  pupil  in  the  school,  and  promises 
soon  to  take,  its  very  highest  honors. 

Mary  Kempton  is  well  married  to  a  dissenting  minister, 
and  having  no  children  of  their  own,  they  work  diligently 
among  the  neglected  children  of  the  ignorant  and  the  poor. 

The  Juniper  family  have  long  since  emigrated  to  Aus- 
tralia, where  they  are  prosperous  sheep  farmers. 

I  have  had  to  record  many  changes  in  these  few  pages ; 
but  then — fourteen  years  had  fled. 

It  is  now  the  middle  of  April  and  the  height  of  the  Lon- 
don season.  Parliament  is  in  session  ;  the  Queen  has  held 
her  first  drawing-room  ;  and  the  Italian  Opera  has  opened 
at  Covent  Garden. 

Three  sensations  in  chief  occupy  the  fashionable  mind 
and  employ  the  fashionable  tongue. 

First  the  rising  young  statesman,  Lord  Wellrose,  who  now 
represented  the  borough  of  Cheviot  in  the  house  of  Com- 
mons, and  had  first  taken  his  seat  at  the  meeting  of  Parlia- 
ment in  the  preceding  February,  had  just  made  his  "  maiden 
speech,"  which  had  waked  up  the  dozing  old  Conservatives 
to  the  knowledge  that  they  had  now  for  an  opponent  a  very 
strong  young  giant-killer  indeed,  and  that  his  war  upon  the 
worn-out  policy  of  the  past  would  be  to  the  death. 

Secondly,  the  new  beauty,  the  Lady  Hinda  Moray,  the 
daughter  of  the  Earl  and  Countess  of  Ornoch,  had  been 


174  A      NOBLE     LORD. 

presented  at  the  Queen's  first  drawing-room,  and  was  voted 
by  all  the  clubs  in  London  to  be  the  most  brilliantly  beauti- 
ful girl  in  England — save  one. 

And  that  brings  us  to  the  cause  of  the  third  sensation — 
the  lovely  young  prima  donna  of  the  Italian  Opera — the 
fairy-like,  wondrous  "Arielle,"  of  whom  men  said  that  she 
was  more  a  "  spirit "  than  a  woman,  and  whose  beauty, 
grace,  genius  and  goodness  were  the  themes  of  every 
tongue. 

She  made  the  greatest  sensation  of  all.  Her  worshippers 
were  unnumbered.  And  among  them  were  to  be  found  the 
most  noble,  princely  and  imperial  dignitaries  in  Europe. 

But  her  only  favored  lover,  Rumor  said,  was  the  new 
lion  of  the  liberal  party,  the  rising  young  statesman,  the 
handsome  and  talented  Earl  of  "VVellrose. 

It  had  been  thought  natural,  proper  and  probable  that 
the  Earl  should  marry  his  distant  3roung  relative,  Lady 
Hinda  Moray,  the  reigning  beauty  of  Belgravia.  It  was 
certain  that  such  a  marriage  would  be  highly  gratifying  to 
the  respective  families  of  the  j-outhful  pair ;  certain  also 
that  the  attentions  of  the  young  Earl  to  the  young  beauty 
and  her  evident  pleasure  in  receiving  them,  had  given  strong 
color  to  the  rumor  of  their  intended  marriage;  finally  it  was 
equally  certain  that  the  Duke  and  Duchess  of  Cheviot  and 
the  Earl  and  Countess  of  Ornoch  looked  forward  with  confi- 
dence to  this  desired  union,  which  they  considered  merely  a 
question  of  some  little  time. 

But  this  was  before  the  Italian  Opera  came,  and  before 
the  fair  young  prima  donna  electrified  London  with  her 
marvellous  beauty  and  genius. 

The  Earl  of  Wellrose,  in  his  character  of  constant  attend- 
ant, went  with  Lady  Hiuda  and  her  mother  to  hear  the  cel- 
ebrated singer  on  the  night  of  her  first  appearance  in  Lon- 
don. Arielle  that  night  carried  the  hearts  of  her  audience 
by  storm.  It  would  be  scarcely  too  much  to  say  that  every 


TRIUMTHS      OF     TIME.  175 

man  present,  young  or  old,  gentle  or  simple,  fell  more  or  less 
in  love  with  the  most  lovely  songstress. 

Among  them,  the  Earl  of  Wellrose. 

The  next  night  he  avoided  the  private  boxes  occupied  by 
his  mother  and  her  friends.  And  he  took  a  stall  in  the 
orchestra  where,  undisturbed,  he  could  feast  his  eyes  and  ears 
on  the  beautiful  vision  before  him. 

That  next  night  also,  after  the  performance  was  over,  he 
went  behind  the  scenes  and  effected  an  introduction  to 
Arielle. 

The  fair  singer  looked  at  him  with  so  much  surprise  and 
interest  as  to  excite  the  wonder  of  those  present,  and  to  draw 
from  herself  an  apology  and  explanation  : 

"  Forgive  me,  my  lord.  I  was  startled  a  little.  But  what 
shall  I  say  ?  Your  lordship's  face  and  voice  seemed  to  me 
so  familiar,  so  intimate — like  those  of  one  that  I  had  always 
been  used  to  see  and  hear.  Ah  !  pray  forgive  me,  for  after 
all  I  find  it  quite  impossible  to  explain,  or  even  to  understand 
myself,"  she  said,  with  a  very  sweet,  naive  smile. 

The  Earl  bowed. 

"  If  face,  or  voice,"  he  said,  "  recall  to  you  any  pleasant 
association  of  the  past,  I  shall  begin  to  set  a  value  upon 
both,  that  neither  ever  had  before." 

She  looked  up  at  him  again,  and  caught  the  warmth  of 
his  smile  and  the  light  of  his  eyes,  and — she  forthwith  in- 
vited him  to  supper  ;  a  very  imprudent  thing  to  do  on  such 
a  short  acquaintance  ;  but  then  Suzy — for  of  course  you 
know  this  was  Suzy — did  many  an  imprudent  thing,  though 
she  never  did  a  wicked  one  ;  and  then,  to  be  sure,  the  Earl 
of  Wellrose  was  not  like  other  young  men  :  he  was  a  young 
man  of  perfectly  unimpeachable  conduct  and  character; 
and  then,  again,  he  was  so  like  Benny  !  He  was  the  very 
image  of  Benny,  grown  up  and  well  dressed — of  poor  lost 
Benny,  fourteen  years  gone,  never  heard  of,  but  never  for- 
gotten, and  never  unloved. 


176  A      NOBLE      LORD. 

Through  all  the  successes  of  her  brilliant  youth  she  had 
remembered  and  mourned  the  companion  of  her  childhood 
— mourned  him  all  the  more  for  the  deep  sadness  of  the 
contrast  between  his  fate  and  hers. 

With  the  world  at  her  feet,  she  sighed  for  the  poor  boy 
who  had  played  with  her  in  her  infancy. 

Crowned  with  fame  and  wealth  and  surrounded  with  lux- 
ury and  adulation  as  she  was,  she  often  sighed  for  the  poor 
old  days  in  the  tenement  house  in  Junk  Lane,  where  they 
were  often  cold  and  always  hungry,  and  where  they  had 
nothing  in  the  world  to  comfort  them  but  only  love. 

Ah,  but  how  much  love  she  had  had  then  ! — father's  and 
mother's  love,  sister's  and  brother's  love,  and  her  dear  play- 
mate, Benny's  love  ! — nay,  his  whole,  whole  heart  ! — for 
Benny  knew  neither  father  nor  mother,  sister  nor  brother,  to 
divide  his  affections  with  Suzy. 

Ah,  even  in  the  midst  of  her  brilliant  fortunes,  how  she 
longed  sometimes  to  go  back,  if  only  for  a  few  days,  to  the 
poor  old  times  and  poor  old  places,  dearer  to  her  memory, 
dearer  to  h'er  faithful  heart,  even  for  their  poverty,  and  to 
live  over  again  the  poor  old  life,  sweetened  by  the  presence 
of  all  she  had  loved  and  lost ! 

Then  arid  there  they  were  all  together,  and  though  often 
half-famished  or  half-frozen,  yet  they  were  all  fond  of  each 
other;  and  then,  when  food  or  fire  were  attainable,  how 
passing  sweet  they  were,  enjoj'ed  by  all  together! 

Now  they  were  scattered  far  and  wide — father,  mother, 
sisters  and  brothers,  except  one — were  all  at  the  antipodes, 
and  though  she  was  glad  to  know  that  they  were  all  pros- 
pering in  their  distant  homes,  still  there  were  times  when 
she  longed,  with  an  unutterable  and  insupportable  longing, 
to  hear  some  dear  home  voice,  to  see  some  familiar  old  face. 

And  Benny? — where  was  he?  A  guiltless  convict  in  a 
distant  penal  colony  beyond  the  seas.  Lost,  gone  and  un- 
heard of  for  fourteen  long  years. 


TRIUMPHS     OF     TIME.  177 

Fourteen  years  that  had  developed  herself,  the  poor  little 
"  prodigy  "  of  the  Thespian,  into  the  most  celebrated  prima 
donna  of  her  time. 

Fourteen  years  that  had  done — what,  for  Benny  ? 

Thus,  looking  back  upon  the  past,  thinking  of  the  number 
of  years  that  had  gone  by,  she  recollected  that  they  formed 
the  exact  term  for  which  Benny  had  been  transported  to  Van 
Dieman's  Land  ;  and  that  should  he  now  be  living,  he  might 
now  return  again  to  his  native  land. 

If  he  should  now  be  living  ?  But  who  could  tell  whether 
indeed  he  were  ?  Was  it  likely  he  could  have  survived  the 
long  years  of  exile,  sorrow  and  shame  that  he  must  have 
suffered  ?  Who  can  tell  ? 

It  was  while  these  thoughts  were  passing  through  her 
mind,  and  the  memory  of  old  times  was  revived  all  the  more 
vividly  by  the  presence  of  old  places  and  old  associations,  on 
her  return  to  England,  that  Suzy,  as  we  shall  call  her  when 
off  the  stage,  first  met  the  young  Earl  of  Wellrose,  to  be 
startled  and  overcome  by  his  wonderful,  his  perfect  likeness 
to  her  dear,  lost  old  playmate,  Benny. 

Do  you  wonder  now  that  she  was  startled  into  suddenly 
inviting  him  to  supper  ? 

Somewhat  surprised  and  amused,  but  also  quite  pleased 
with  this  unexpected  mark  of  confidence,  the  young  Earl 
accepted  the  invitation  as  frankly  as  it  was  given. 

That  evening  he  forgot  or  disregarded  all  other  claims 
upon  his  time  and  attention,  and  went  to  sup  with  Suzy  at 
her  elegant  little  palace  in  Park  Lane,  that  had  been  en- 
yaged,  furnished,  for  her  use  before  she  left  Paris  for 
London. 

There  she  now  lived,  guarded  by  her  elder  brother  Wil- 
liam, whom  we  used  to  know  in  Junk  Lane  as  Billy  Juniper, 
chiefly  remarkable  for  his  love  of  "  horse   cake,"  but  now 
grown  up  to  be  a  very  fine  looking  youug  man  indeed,  with 
11 


178  A      NOBLE      LORD. 

a  full  tawny  beard,  and,  alas !  also  a  very  fast  young  man, 
with  a  taste  for  cigars,  wine  and  dice. 

He  had  emigrated  to  Australia  with  the  rest  of  his  family, 
but  not  liking  colonial  life  and  agricultural  labor,  light  as  it 
was  with  him,  and  hearing  that  his  sister  had  made  a  most 
brilliant  debut  in  Paris,  and  thinking  that  she  was  going  to 
have  a  very  good  time,  and  loving  pleasure  himself  better 
than  anything  else  in  the  world,  he  had  made  up  his  mind 
to  come  back  to  England  and  live  with  Suzy — to  take  care  of 
her,  as  he  said.  He  had  joined  her  in  Paris,  and  accompa- 
nied her  to  London,  and  was  now  living  with  her  in  her  mini- 
ature palace  in  Park  Lane. 

And  there  is  no  doubt  that  in  one  sense  he  did  take  care 
of  her. 

Besides  her  brother  there  was  also  a  grave  matron,  the 
childless  widow  of  a  poor  curate,  who  lived  with  Suzy  as 
housekeeper  and  companion. 

These  were  the  people  that  the  young  Earl  met,  the  first 
evening  he  supped  with  Suzy.  And  certainly  he  was  some- 
what surprised  at  the  very  quiet  domestic  life  of  the  cele- 
brated prima  donna,  and  somewhat  disappointed  also,  that 
there  was  not  the  slightest  chance  of  a  tete-a-tete  with  his 
charming  hostess. 

As  for  Suzy,  she  was  deeply  delighted  with  her  guest. 
It  seemed  to  her  that  her  old  playmate,  poor  Benny,  sat 
opposite  to  her,  as  she  had  always  dreamed  and  hoped  that 
he  would — grown  up,  well  educated,  well  dressed,  good  and 
happy ! 

The  Earl  was  such  a  perfect  counterpart  of  the  outcast, 
that,  as  she  looked  at  him,  she  almost  deluded  herself  into 
the  belief  that -lie  was  really  Benny  redeemed  and  transfig- 
ured before  her. 

This  imbued  her  looks  and  tones,  when  addressing  her 
guest,  with  an  involuntary  friendliness  and  tenderness  that 
was  as  free  from  the  least  shade  of  immodesty  or  coquetry 


TRIUMPHS      OF     TIME. 

as  from  any  other  sort  of  guile.  And  the  young  Earl  did 
not  misjudge  the  purity  of  her  heart,  though  he  could  not 
quite  understand  her  manners. 

But  every  moment  he  found  her  more  lovely,  and  every 
moment  it  seemed  more  difficult  to  leave  her. 

He  did  not  overstay  his  time,  however;  but  when  it  came, 
he  arose  and  took  leave — feeling  that  he  had  spent  one  of 
the  happiest  evenings  he  had  ever  seen  in  his  life. 

As  soon  as  their  guest  had  gone,  Mr.  William  Juniper 
turned  upon  his  beautiful  sister,  and  said: 

"  I  say,  Suzy,  this  won't  do,  you  know  !  " 

"  What  won't  do,  Willy  ? "  she  inquired,  raising  her 
brows. 

"  How  long  have  you  known  this  swell?"  he  demanded, 
without  answering  her  question. 

"  The  Earl  ?     Only  since  this  evening." 

"  Whee-ew !  "  exclaimed  Master  Willy,  with  a  long  whis- 
tle— "  this  is  getting  on  !  But  I  say,  you  know,  Suzy,  this 
really  ivon't  do ! " 

"  What  won't  do,  Willy,  I  ask  you  again  ?  " 

"T/m  won't.  This  swell  won't.  He's  a  flight  above 
your  reach,  I  can  tell  you,  Suzy,  if  you  are  a  prima  donna! 
He's  the  Earl  of  Wellrose,  the  Duke  of  Cheviot's  son,  and 
heir.  That's  what  he  is." 

"  I  know  what  he  is.  And  I  do  not  care  for  that.  I 
liked  him  at  first  sight,  because  he  didn't  seem  like  a 
stranger  at  all,  but  like  an  old,  old,  dear,  dear  friend.  He 
felt  near  to  me,  Willy." 

"  Well,  I  swear  !  If  that  isn't  the  softest  rubbish  I  ever 
heard  in  all  the  days  of  my  life !  It's  well  I  sacrificed  all 
my  prospects  in  Australia  and  came  over  here  to  look  after 
you,  blest  if  it  isn't !  See  here,  Suzy !  That  swell's  over 
head  and  ears  in  love  with  you,  and  don't  take  no  trouble  to 
conceal  it.  And  similar!)''  you  act  as  if  you  were  over  head 
and  ears  in  love  with  him,  aud  didn't  care  about  hiding  it. 


180  A     NOBLE     LORD. 

Blest  if  it  isn't  a  good  thing  I  did  come  to  take  care  of 
you  !  » 

"  Willy,  I  can  take  care  of  myself.  I  am  of  age.  And 
you  may  go  a  trifle  too  far.  I  will  not  have  my  guests 
affronted.  You  know  nothing  of  the  exigencies  of  my  life. 
I  must  live  here  as  I  lived  at  Paris,  Berlin,  St.  Petersburg 
and  other  continental  cities.  I  must  give  elegant  little  sup- 
pers here  as  I  did  there.  And  you  are  not,  because  you  are 
kind  enough  to  '  take  care  of  me ' — you  are  not  to  fancy 
every  gentleman  an  ogre,  and  affront  my  visitors.  I  shall 
receive  the  Earl,  as  I  receive  others.  Good-night,"  said 
Suzy. 

And  she  retired,  and  left  her  rough  but  well-meaning 
brother  to  his  own  reflections. 

Did  Suzy  receive  the  Earl  as  she  received  her  other 
guests?  No  doubt  she  intended  to  do  as  she  said,  for  she 
was  the  very  soul  of  truth  and  honor. 

However  that  might  be,  it  is  certain  that  from  that  eve- 
ning forth,  the  brilliant  young  patrician,  Lady  Hinda 
Moray,  missed  from  her  circle  the  most  favored  of  her 
admirers,  while  the  lovely  prima  donna  numbered  among 
her  worshippers  the  handsome  and  talented  Earl  of  Well- 
rose. 

Rumor  soon  connected  the  name  of  the  rising  statesman 
with  that  of  the  renowned  songstress,  and  whispered  that 
Arielle  would  add  one  more  to  an  illustrious  list  of  artistes 
raised  by  marriage  to  the  peerage. 

Of  course  this  rumor  never,  by  any  chance,  reached  the 
ears  of  the  Duke  or  Duchess  of  Cheviot.  They  believed 
their  son  was  pleased  with  the  Lady  Hiuda,  and  that  in  due 
season  he  would  propose  and  be  accepted  by  her. 

The  Duke,  however,  though  a  handsome,  healthy  man  in 
the  prime  of  life,  was  growing  rather  impatient  to  see  the 
perpetuation  of  his  race  insured. 

So  one  day  he  took  his  son  to  task. 


TRIUMPHS     OF     TIME.  181 

"As  my  heir  and  only  son,  Wellrose,  I  confess  that  I  feel 
anxious  to  see  you  married.  You  admire  Hinda  Moray, 
and  she  likes  you.  What  should  delay  your  early  mar- 
riage ?  "  he  inquired. 

"I'm  sure  I  don't  know,"  answered  Lord  Wellrose,  "un- 
less it  is  that  I  feel  there  is  still  a  plenty  of  time  to  spare." 

"  Ah,  yes !  '  plenty  of  time,'  if  all  my  daughters  were 
sons,  Wellrose,  or  if  a  few  of  them  were.  But  as  I  have  but 
one  son,  I  confess  that  I  should  like  to  see  half  a  dozen 
grandsons  or  so.  Now  I  do  not  know  what  should  hinder 
your  marriage." 

"Hinda  might  hinder  it,"  laughed  the  young  Earl. 

"  Find  that  out  immediately  for  yourself,  my  son.  Ask 
her,  ask  her.  The  sooner  the  better,"  said  the  Duke. 

Lord  Wellrose  laughed,  but  gave  no  pledge. 

He  had  really  not  made  up  his  mind  on  the  subject. 

He  was  very  fond  of  his  distant  cousin,  the  beautiful 
Lady  Hinda;  he  was  also  very  much  charmed  by  the  lovely 
young  singer.  He  said  of  them  that  they  were  beyond  all 
question  the  two  most  perfect  beauties  in  Europe — Hinda 
being  the  most  beautiful  brunette,  and  Arielle  the  most 
beautiful  blonde. 

But  at  this  period  he  was  not  really  very  deeply  in  love 
with  either  of  them,  or  with  any  one  else.  His  mind  was 
more  occupied  with  a  great  and  comprehensive  bill  that  he 
was  about  to  bring  before  the  House  for  the  reclamation  of 
juvenile  offenders  and  the  amelioration  of  the  condition  of 
the  destitute  classes,  than  with  any  question  of  love  or  mar- 
riage. 

And  yet  every  evening  when  he  was  not  in  his  seat  at 
the  House  of  Commons,  he  might  be  seen  in  an  orchestra 
stall  at  the  Italian  Opera,  and  afterwards  in  the  elegant 
drawing-room  of  the  young  prima  donna,  at  Park  Lane. 

Ah,  if  he  had  only  known  that  then  his  sole  attraction 
for  Suzy  was  not  his  manly  beauty,  his  brilliant  talents,  his 


182  A     NOBLE     LORD. 

rank  or  wealth,  but — his  perfect  likeness  to  her  early  friend 
Benny ! 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

THE  PKIMA  DONNA  AND  THE  RETURNED  CONVICT. 

Yet  scorn  not  thou,  for  this,  the  true 

And  steadfast  love  of  years, 
The  kindness  that  from  childhood  grew, 

The  laithful  to  thy  tears.— FELICIA  HEMANS. 

IT  happened  one  evening  after  the  opera  was  over,  that 
Lord  Wellrose  was  conducting  the  beautiful  prima  donna  to 
her  brougham,  that  was  waiting  at  the  stage  door. 

As  usual  a  great  crowd  was  around  the  door  waiting  to 
get  a  glimpse  of  Arielle  as  she  passed. 

One  young  man  in  particular,  pale,  emaciated  and  poorly 
dressed,  was  pressed  so  near  the  carriage  as  to  be  seriously 
in  the  way  of  the  Earl,  as  he  handed  the  actress  to  her 
seat. 

"  Stand  aside,  my  good  fellow  j  you  impede  us,"  said  his 
lordship. 

But  at  the  same  instant  a  slight  scream  from  Arielle 
startled  him. 

"  Stand  aside,  sir !  "  he  repeated  sternly.  "  Do  you  not 
see  that  you  are  really  frightening  the  lady?  " 

"Oh,  no,  no;  he  doesn't! — he  doesn't  frighten  me,  my 
lord  !  He  is  Benny — my  dear  old  playmate  Benny,  whom 
I  have  not  seen  nor  heard  of  for  fourteen  long  years ! 
Move  a  little,  "my  lord,  if  you  please.  And  oh,  Benny, 
come  here  to  me,  my  dear!"  said  Suzy,  leaning  from  the 
carriage,  unceremoniously  pushing  the  Earl  out  of  the  way, 
and  beckoning  the  pale  spectre  to  approach. 

He  came  at  once,  the  crowd  still  pressing  closer  behind 
him  to  get  a  sight  of  the  beautiful  singer,  whose  unvailed 


PRIM  A    DONNA     AND     THE    CONVICT.       183 

face  was  now  leaning  from  the  carriage  door  in  full  view  of 
all. 

Suzy  neither  cared  for  them,  nor  even  saw  them.  She 
only  saw  the  friend  of  her  childhood. 

"  Oh,  Benny  !  I  am  so  glad  to  see  you,  and  so — so  grieved 
to  see  you  this  way ! "  she  added,  bursting  into  tears  of 
mingled  joy  and  sorrow. 

"And  to  think  you  should  know  me,  after  all  that  is 
come  and  gone  !  And  to  think  you  should  speak  to  me, 
now  you  are  so  famous  and  so  wealthy ! "  murmured  the 
poor  young  man,  in  a  voice  choked  with  emotion. 

"  Oh,  Benny,  did  you  think  that  could  make  any  differ- 
ence with  me  ?  Oh,  get  in  here  and  come  home  with  me, 
and  tell  me  all  that  has  happened  to  you  since  we  saw  you  !  " 
she  said,  clasping  both  his  hands  and  drawing  him  toward 
herself. 

Almost  involuntarily  he  yielded  to  the  impulse.  And 
before  he  realized  what  he  was  doing,  he  found  himself 
seated  opposite  to  her  in  the  pretty  little  brougham. 

Once  more  she  leaned  from  the  carriage  window,  and  said 
to  the  astonished  Earl,  who  was  standing  near : 

"  Lord  Wellrose,  will  you  kindly  beckon  a  policeman  to 
clear  the  way  ?  These  people  are  so  rude  !  And  please 
also  tell  the  coachman,  "  Home  !  "  she  added. 

"  I  wonder  if  I  am  awake,"  muttered  the  Earl  to  himself, 
as  he  obeyed  all  the  orders  so  cavalierly  given  him. 

The  police  cleared  the  way.  The  coachman  started  his 
horses,  and  in  due  time  the  little  brougham  drew  up  to  the 
miniature  palace  in  Park  Lane. 

"  Open  the  Rose  parlor,  Smith  ;  and  mind,  I'm  not  at 
home  to  any  one  at  all  this  evening ! "  she  said  to  the  ser- 
vant who  attended  the  door. 

"  If  Lord  Wellrose  should  call  as  usual,  Miss  ?  "  inquired 
the  man,  hesitating. 

"  Not  at  home  to  him  either.  Not  at  home  to  any  one, 
I  tell  you  !  Now  open  the  Hose  parlor ! ;; 


184  A     NOBLE      LORD. 

The  man,  after  a  furtive  glance  toward  his  mistress' 
strange  companion,  led  the  way  to  the  back  of  the  house, 
and  opened  a  door  leading  into  a  lovely  bower,  fitted  up  and 
decorated  with  rose-colored  furniture  and  hangings,  and 
opening  upon  a  conservatory  of  the  rarest  and  riches  roses. 

"  Serve  supper  here  as  soon  as  possible.  Tell  Mrs.  Brown 
she  need  not  join  me  this  evening,"  said  Suzy  to  the 
bewildered  servant,  who  went  out,  muttering  to  himself: 

"  Veil,  if  this  'ere  an't  the  rummest  go  as  hever  I  see  ! 
That  young  cove  be  some  poor,  misrepertable  relation  or 
other  of  hern,  as  is  a  blackmailing  on  her,  or  something ! " 

Meanwhile  Suzy  turned  toward  her  poor  guest,  and 
noticed  again  how  very  thin  and  pale  he  looked,  and  yet  how 
perfect,  notwithstanding,  was  the  likeness  between  him  and 
the  Earl  of  Wellrose  ! 

The  outcast  seemed  but  the  faded  and  defaced  counter- 
part of  the  Earl. 

"  Oh,  Benny,  dear,  sit  down  !  Oh,  Benny,  I  am  so  glad 
—and  so  grieved  to  see  you  !  Sit  down,  Benny  !"  she  said, 
as  she  threw  off  her  own  light  opera  hood  and  cloak,  and 
dropped  into  one  of  the  luxurious  little  chairs. 

The  poor  outcast  turned  his  eyes  around  the  room  with  a 
dazed  and  bewildered  look,  and  then  fixing  them  on.  her 
compassionate  face,  answered  : 

"  I  am  not  fit  to  sit  down  here." 

"  Oh,  don't  say  that,  Benny  !  Don't  say  that,  brother, 
or  you'll  make  me  wish,  for  all  that  has  come  and  gone,  that 
we  were  both  children,  back  in  Junk  Lane  again.  Please 
sit  down,  Benny,"  she  pleaded,  beginning  to  weep. 

He  looked  around  again  upon  the  rich  and  delicate  chair 
coverings — white  satin,  embroidered  with  roses — and  he 
sighed  as  he  sank  into  the  nearest  seat. 

"  Dear  Benny,"  she  said,  drawing  her  chair  toward  him, 
"when  did  you  get  back?  Have  you  been  in  London 
long?  And  why  didn't  you  find  me  out,  and  come  to  see 


PRIM  A     DONNA     AND     THE     CONVICT.       185 

me  ?  "  she  continued,  hurrying  question  upon  question  with 
breathless  eagerness. 

"  My  time  was  out  last  Michaelmas,  you  know,"  said 
Benny,  answering  a  little  aside  from  her  questions.  "And 
I  longed  to  get  home.  Oh,  Suzy,  you  don't  know  how  one 
longs  to  get  home  when  they're  in  a  foreign  land  and  not 
allowed  to  come.  I  used  to  dream  of  home." 

"  Home !  Ah !  poor  boy,  what  sort  of  a  home  has 
England  been  to  you  ?  What  sort  of  a  home  has  the  world 
been  to  you,  poor  Benny ! "  she  said,  and  her  eyes  filled 
with  tears. 

"  But  it  was  home.  And  all  I  loved  in  the  world  was 
here.  And  all  these  long  years  of  exile  I  did  so  long  and 
weary  to  get  home.  At  length  I  think  Heaveii  took  pity 
on  me,  and  sent  me  home  every  night." 

"Sent  you  home  every  night,  Benny?" 

"In  dreams,  I  mean.  Yes,  every  night  as  soon  as  my 
eyes  would  close  in  sleep,  I  would  be  at  home.  I  used  to 
long  for  night  to  come,  so  I  could  go  to  sleep  and  go  home. 
And  every  day  I  used  to  tire  myself  out  with  more  work 
than  I  need  to  have  done,  so  I  might  be  sure  to  go  to  sleep 
at  night  and  go  home  in  my  dreams.  At  last,  when  the 
long,  long  years  all  rolled  by,  and  my  time  was  out,  I  took 
passage  in  the  very  first  ship  that  was  homeward  bound. 
And,  Suzy,  I  never  was  so  happy  in  all  my  life,  as  I  was 
when  I  stood  on  the  deck  of  that  ship,  and  she  stood  out  to 
sea  with  her  head  toward  home  !  "  said  the  poor  outcast,  his 
pale  face  lighting  up  again  with  pleasure  at  the  recollection. 

"  Home  !  Oh,  poor  boy  !  home  !  "  repeated  Suzy,  with 
sorrowful  sarcasm. 

"  Yes,  home  !  Ah  !  you've  never  been  outcast  from  your 
native  land,  or  you'd  know  the  feeling  on  getting  back 
again.  It  was  a  long  voyage  though.  And  we  only  reach- 
ed London  three  days  ago.  It  was  night  when  we  dropped 
our  anchor,  Suzy ;  but  I  was  one  of  the  first  to  come  ashore. 


186  A      NOBLE      LORD. 

I  bent  down  and  kissed  the  ground,  Suzy  !  I  did!  I  cried 
too.  I  could  not  help  it.  That  same  night  I  went  to  the 
house  in  Junk  Lane.  But  all  the  people  that  I  used  to 
know  there  are  gone,  not  only  from  the  house,  but  from  the 
neighborhood.  And  the  house  is  turned  into  a  ragged 
school  by  day  and  a  lodging  for  the  homeless  by  night." 

"  Yes,  Benny,  that  is  Mrs.  Melliss'  charity." 

"  Is  it  ?  How  good  she  is !  I  remember  her  so  well ! 
Suzy,  I  lodged  in  that  house  that  night.  I  slept  in  your 
mother's  old  room,  where  you  and  I  used  to  play  together 
and  have  grand  parties  out  of  ha'pennies'  worths  of  ginger- 
bread or  taffy,"  said  the  poor  outcast,  with  the  old  tender- 
ness melting  his  blue  eyes,  and  the  old  sad  smile  wrinkling 
his  pale  cheeks. 

"  Oh !  did  you,  Benny  ?  Did  you,  really  ?  Oh  !  I  should 
so  love  to  see  the  poor,  dear  old  place  again  !  Some  day 
you  and  I  will  go  there  and  see  it  together,  Benny,  for  the 
sake  of  old  times."  she  answered,  with  a  sympathetic  smile. 

But  the  outcast  sadly  shook  his  head. 

"  That  will  never  do,  Suzy,"  he  said.  "  For  the  sake  of 
'  old  times,'  you  may  let  me  sit  and  talk  to  you  here  in  your 
own  house.  But  you  must  never  be  seen  in  public  with 
such  as  I." 

'•'  Oh,  Benny,  Benny !  You  hurt  my  very  heart  when 
you  talk  that  way  !  Don't  I  tell  you  all  that  has  come  and 
gone  can  make  no  difference  between  you  and  me  ?  You 
are  Benny  and  I  am  Suzy !  "  She  wept. 

"  You  are  a  renowned  prima  donna  and  I  am  a  returned 
convict,"  he  answered. 

"  Benny  !  Benny  !  you  will  break  my  heart.  You  never 
deserved  to  be  cast  down  so  low ;  I  never  deserved  to  be 
lifted  up  so  high.  And  it  makes  me  wish  I  could  roll  back 
all  these  years  and  find  ourselves  children  again,  in  the 
poor,  dear  old  tenement  house,  with  all  our  dear  friends 
around  us  !  "  she  said,  weeping  abundantly. 


PRIMA      DONNA    AND    THE    CONVICT.        187 

"  Don't  cry,  Suzy !  Indeed  I  didn't  mean  to  hurt  you. 
But  }-ou  must  look  facts  in  the  face,  dear.  It  is  not  fit  that 
1  should  be  seen  with  you" 

"And  why  is  it  not?  You  look  like  a  gentleman,  Ben- 
ny ;  you  speak  like  a  gentleman ;  you  are  a  gentleman, 
Benny,  notwithstanding  all  that  has  come  and  gone  ;  and 
in  heart  and  soul  you  always  were  a  gentleman,  Benny. 
And  you  need  only  to  be  well  dressed  to  be  seen  anywhere 
with  anybody.  Well,  there !  you  are  the  living  image  of 
Lord  Wellrose — that  is,  Lord  Wellrose  in  poor  health.  If 
you  could  get  your  health  and  a  fashionable  suit  of  clothes,  I 
do  not  believe  any  one  could  tell  either  of  you  apart.  Yes, 
you  are  a  natural  gentleman,  Benny;  while  I —  Nothing 
on  earth  can  ever  make  a  lady  of  me ;  and  I  have  sense 
enough  to  know  it." 

"I  am  no  fit  judge  of  a  lady  or  a  gentleman,  Suzy;  but 
I  know  one  thing ;  that  your  good,  true  heart  is  worth  a 
kingdom,  if  a  man  had  it  to  give  you." 

"  I  wish  all  that  was  so,  for  your  sake,  Benny.  But  now 
tell  me  what  you  have  been  doing  since  you  got  back  to 
England,  and  why  you  did  not  seek  me  out  and  come  to 
see  me.  You  say  you  lodged  in  the  poor,  dear  old  room  we 
used  to  play  in.  Now  what  did  you  do  the  next  day  ?  " 

"  The  next  day  I  walked  to  the  Strand.  And  the  fust 
thing  I  noticed  there  was  the  great  bills  posted  everywhere, 
with  'ARIELLE!'  I  knew  the  name,  Suzy.  I  knew  it 
must  be  yours.  I  remembered  that  day,  at  the  Helenic 
Gardens,  when  you  danced  under  the  name  of  Arielle.  So 
I  went  to  Covent  Garden,  and  hung  about  the  Theatre  all 
day,  in  the  hope  of  seeing  you  go  in  or  come  out  from 
rehearsal.  But  I  did  not  see  you." 

"I  was  not  at  rehearsal  that  day.  But  why,  Bennj-, 
didn't  you  go  to  the  box-office,  and  find  out  my  address 
and  come  to  see  me  ?  " 

"  Look  at  me,  Suzy.     Was  it  likely  that  I  would  wrong 


188  A     NOBLE     LORD. 

you  so  much  as  to  go  inquiring  after  yon,  as  if  I  were  an 
acquaintance?  No,  Suzy.  But  I  watched  again  at  night. 
And  I  saw  a  very  elegant  little  brougham  drive  up  to  the 
stage  door.  And  I  heard  the  loungers  on  the  corner  say, 
'  That  is  she  ! '  And  I  saw  you  come  out  of  the  carriage 
closely  vailed,  and  go  in  at  the  stage  door." 

"  Oh,  Benny  !  Why  did  you  not  make  yourself  known  to 
me,  then  and  there?" 

"  Why  ?  Ah,  Suzy  !  /,  a  poor,  returned  convict !  You, 
a  celebrated  prima  donna.  Would  it  have  been  likely  that 
I  should  affront  you  so  grossly  as  to  claim  acquaintance  with 
you  there  ?  No,  dear,  no  !  But  from  that  hour  I  watched 
morning  and  evening,  and  1  saw  you  every  time  you  came 
and  went." 

"  You  did !  And  you  never  made  yourself  known  to  me  ! 
And  I  never  saw  you  !  And  I  suppose,  if  I  had  not  chanced 
to  see  you  to-night  and  speak  to  you,  you  never  would 
have  come  to  me." 

"  Never,  Suzy — never,  for  your  sake !  But  I  should 
have  watched  you  from  a  distance,  and  I  should  have 
delighted  in  your  triumphs,  all  the  same.  It  was  the 
pressure  of  the  crowd  that  forced  me  up  against  your 
carriage  and  precipitated  this  denouement. " 

11  Yes.  I  bless  the  crowd,  though  I  blamed  it,  only  this 
evening.  But — denouement,  Benny  ?  I  have  been  noticing 
all  this  evening  that  you  no  longer  speak  as  you  used  to 
speak  when  a  boy.  You  have  improved  yourself,  Benny  ?  " 
she  said,  looking  in  his  face. 

"  Yes,  perhaps,  a  little.  You  know  I  learned  to  read  and 
write  while  I  was  in  prison  here.  Well,  when  a  boy  knows 
how  to  read  and  write  and  wishes  to  gain  knowledge,  he  can 
learn  almost  anything  else.  I  have  taken  every  opportunity 
to  learn  as  much  as  I  could." 

"  I  am  so  glad  to  hear  you  say  that,  dear  Benny  !  But  I 
think,  Benny,  that  when  you  showed  such  a  good  disposition 


PRIM  A     DONNA     AND     THE    CONVICT.       189 

to  improve  yourself,  they  might  have  pardoned  you  and  sent 
you  home  !  /  do." 

"Why,  Suzy,  did  they  acquit  me  because  I  was  innocent? 
No  !  They  convicted  me  because  I  would  not  betray  my  sup- 
posed accomplices.  And  do  you  think  that  they  would  par- 
don me  because  I  had  been  unjustly  convicted,  or  because  I 
behaved  well  under  that  ordeal?  No!  because  still  I  would 
not  betray  my  supposed  accomplices,  whom  the  authorities 
were  so  very  anxious  to  arrest.  No,  Suzy  !  I  had  to 
'  dree  my  weird,'  as  the  Scotch  say.  In  other  words,  I  had 
to  bear  my  doom.  And  now,  Suzy,  since  you  are  so  kind 
and  good  to  me,  tell  me  what  has  become  of  all  our  old 
friends ;  for  I  have  not  been  able  to  find  any  of  them,  or  to 
hear  news  of  any  of  them.  And  first  of  all,  your  own 
family,  Suzy." 

"  They  are  all  in  Australia.  You  see,  my  father  and  my 
brothers  were  unwilling  to  be  always  dependent  upon  me, 
though  I  could  have  kept  them  all  in  comfort  all  their  days, 
and  would  have  been  willing  to  work  for  them  all  my  life,  if 
I  could  only  have  kept  them  with  me.  But  they  took  the 
Australian  fever,  and  must  needs  go  out  there  and  try  their 
fortunes  at  sheep  farming.  So  the  first  thousand  pounds  I 
made,  clear  of  expenses,  I  gave  to  my  father  and  sent  them 
all  out." 

"  And  they  all  left  you  ?  " 

"  Every  one  !  And  I  thought  my  heart  must  have  broken, 
for  I  had  not  a  soul  near  me  who  loved  me,  or  whom  I  loved. 
And,  Benny,  the  very  night  that  I  achieved  my  first  and 
greatest  triumph,  when  I  knew  that  all  the  city  was  ringing 
with  my  name,  I  sat  down  and  wept  in  solitude  and  home- 
sickness, and  longed  for  the  poor  old  times  in  the  poor  old 
house  in  Junk  Lane,  with  my  father  and  mother  and  you  to 
love  me  ! " 

"  Ah,  Suzy  !  Suzy  !  I  wish  you  could  accept  your  brilliant 
destiny  with  gratitude  and  joy." 


190  A      NOBLE      LORD. 

"  But  I  cannot.  Never  mind  that.  Whom  else  do  you 
wish  to  hear  of,  Benny  ?  " 

"  My  poor  mother." 

"  Still  hopelessly  insane,  Benny  !  I  visit  her,  for  your 
sake,  on  every  visiting  day." 

"The  Kemptons?" 

"  Mary  is  married  to  a  Baptist  preacher  at  Corydon,  and 
is  doing  well.  The  rest  of  her  family  went  out  to  Australia 
with  mine.  Mrs.  Melliss  paid  their  way." 

"  Eachel  Wood  ?  " 

"  Is  matron  of  the  Duchess'  School  for  Destitute  Boys. 
But  you  knew  she  was  going  to  be,  before  you  left." 

"  Yes.     Captain  Faulkner's  widow  and  children  ?  " 

"  They  live  at  Brompton,  supported  by  Mrs.  Faulkner's 
father.  The  children  are  grown  up,  as  you  and  I,  Benny. 
Is  there  any  one  else  you  would  like  to  hear  of?  " 

"No,  no  one  else." 

"  And  here  comes  the  footman,  to  announce  supper,"  said 
Suzy,  as  a  man-servant  drew  aside  a  sliding  door  that  divided 
the  little  apartment,  and  displayed  an  elegant  little  supper- 
table  set  for  two. 

Suzy  took  the  arm  of  her  poor  friend  and  went  to  the 
table. 

Her  glance  compelled  the  waiting  footman  to  show  as 
much  respect  to  her  poorly  clad  guest  as  if  he,  that  guest, 
had  been  the  Earl  instead  of  the  Outcast. 

A  few  minutes  after  supper  was  over,  Benny  arose  to  take 
his  leave. 

"  Come  to  me  at  two  to-morrow  afternoon,  Benny.  I  have 
something  particular  to  say  to  you,"  said  Suzy.  as  he  bade 
her  good-night. 

The  poor  outcast  bowed,  and  promised. 


TWO     FATES.  191 

CHAPTER  XIX. 

TWO   FATES. 

\VTiy.  let  the  stricken  deer  go  weep, 

The  hart,  ungalled,  play; 
For  some  must  watch,  while  some  may  sleep, 

Thus  runs  the  world  away. — HAMLET. 

SUZY  slept  little  and  wept  much  that  night.  And  it 
took  a  great  deal  of  rose-water  to  cool  her  eyes  the  next 
morning,  before  she  went  to  rehearsal. 

In  the  green-room  she  fouud  Lord  Wellrose,  apparently 
waiting  for  her — evidently  curious  to  hear  some  explanation 
of  her  strange  conduct,  and  some  account  of  her  stranger 
acquaintance  of  the  night  before. 

Though  courtesy  obliged  him  to  he  quite  silent  upon  the 
subject  until  she  should  speak,  yet  she  quickly  perceived  his 
uneasiness,  and  in  the  intervals  hetween  her  business  in  the 
rehearsals,  she  talked  to  him  of  her  early  life  and  humble 
friends. 

"You  know,  my  lord,"  she  said,  "that  I  am  a  child  of 
the  people — " 

"  Like  Rachel,  Ristori,  Jenny  Lind — " 

"And  all  the  rest,"  she  added.  "But,  my  lord,  I  was 
much  humbler  horn  than  any  of  those.  I  could  scarcely 
have  been  poorer,  lower,  than  I  was  in  my  childhood.  If 
Madame  Vesta  had  not  seen  me  and  pitied  me,  I  should 
never  have  been  richer  or  higher,  I  think." 

"  You  '  think.'     Well,  let  that  go,  for  the  present." 

"  In  my  childhood  I  had  a  friend,  dearer  to  me  than  any 
one  else  in  the  world.  We  were  of  the  same  age.  My 
mother  used  to  tell  me  that  we  were  fond  of  each  other  in 
our  cradles,  and  that  strangers  always  took  us  for  twins. 
When  we  were  but  a  few  months  old,  Benny's  mother  used 
to  leave  him  with  my  mother  when  she  went  out  to  work. 
In  the  same  way  on  Sundays,  my  mother  used  to  leave  me 


192  A     NOBLE     LORD. 

with  Benny's  mother  while  she  went  to  work.  That  was 
the  way  in  which  the  baby  love  began.  I  do  not  remember 
that ;  but  so  far  back  as  I  do  remember,  we  two  were  insep- 
arable companions.  There's  the  prompter's  call !  "  she  ex- 
claimed, breaking  off  from  her  narrative  to  run  upon  the 
stage  and  sing  her  part. 

Lord  Wellrose  walked  np  and  down  the  green-room,  his 
soul  flooded  with  the  tide  of  harmony  that  swelled  from  the 
stage  and  filled  the  building. 

After  a  while  she  came  back  to  him,  and  took  up  her 
subject  just  where  she  had  left  off. 

"  We  were  very,  very  poor !  As  I  told  you,  we  could 
scarcely  have  been  poorer.  We  were  very  often  half  fam- 
ished and  half  frozen.  But  we  shared  everything  with  each 
other.  When  Benny  had  no  fire,  I  brought  him  in  to  ours. 
WThen  we  had  no  fire,  Benny  took  me  in  to  his.  If  Benny 
had  a  ha'penny  roll,  he  always  divided  it  with  me.  If  I 
had  one,  I  shared  it  with  him.  We  two  poor  little  heathen 
were  like  the  primitive  Christians  in  one  respect — we  '  had 
all  things  in  common.'  The  call-boy  again  !  "  she  exclaim- 
ed, breaking  off  and  running  away. 

There  was  another  rapture  of  divine  harmony,  that  filled 
the  place  and  transfigured  the  world  for  a  time,  and  then 
again  she  came  back  and  resumed  her  reminiscences. 

"  You  may  judge,  Lord  Wellrose,  how  dear  to  my  soul 
was  this  friend  of  my  childhood." 

"I  can  judge." 

"  But  I  could  never  make  you  realize  how  gentle,  affec- 
tionate, compassionate  he  was  ;  how  true  and  faithful  he 
was ;  how  utterly  unselfish,  how  devoted  to  his  friends. 
And  yet,  Lord  Wellrose,  there  were  those  about  him,  those 
lie  loved  and  trusted,  who  taught  him  always  evil  for  good; 
who  led  him  into  sin  by  his  own  purest  affections;  who 
taught  him,  for  love  of  them,  to  break  the  laws  of  God  and 
man,  and  to  believe  that  he  was  doing  a  brave  and  good 


TWO      FATES.  193 

deed.  My  lord,  you,  in  speaking  of  your  own  pure  child- 
hood, have  told  me  how  you  used  to  boast  of  the  great 
things  you  would  do  for  humanity,  when  you  '  should  grow 
to  be  a  man.'  Benny  would  caress  his  starving  companions 
and  beg  them  not  to  mind,  for  that  he  would  '  crack  a  case ' 
and  get  them  plenty  of  '  prod  '  when  he  should  '  grow  a  big 
man.'  All  this,  you  see,  out  of  the  misled  goodness  of  his 
heart." 

"  It  is  very  deplorable." 

"Yes;  but  I  loved  Benny  dearly,  notwithstanding  all. 
You  may  judge,  therefore,  Lord  Wellrose,  what  a  deep,  last- 
ing, incurable  sorrow  it  was  to  me,  when  I  was  entrapped  by 
an  artful  detective  into  betraying  my  dear  playmate  to  the 
hands  of  the  police,  to  trial,  to  conviction,  to  transportation 
for  fourteen  years  !  And  all  for  a  crime  that  he  never  com- 
mitted ! " 

Here  Suzy  dropped  her  face  upon  her  hands  and  wept. 

Lord  Wellrose  was  deeply  touched.  He  laid  his  hand  upon 
her  bowed  head,  and  in  earnest,  tender  tones,  inquired: 

"  Can  I  do  anything  for  him,  for  you  ?  " 

Suzy  sadly  shook  her  head. 

'•No;  thanks,  but  no,  you  can  do  nothing.  He  had  to 
'  dree  his  weird  ! '  It  is  over  now.  He  is  back  here  again. 
It  was  he  whom  I  met  last  night.  You  do  not  wonder  now 
at  anything  I  did,  do  you  ?  " 

"Indeed,  no.  And  I  should  like  to  do  something  for  the 
young  man." 

"  If  there  should  be  anything  that  you — There  !  I  must 
go  again,"  she  said,  hastily  drying  her  eyes,  and  hurrying 
off  to  take  her  part  in  the  last  and  longest  scene  of  the 
rehearsal. 

When  it  was  over,  she  once  more  rejoined  Lord  Wellrose 
in  the  green-room. 

He  asked  permission  to  attend  her  to  her  home. 

''Thanks,  no;  not  this  morning,  if  you  please,  my  lord. 
12 


A      NOBLE      LORD. 

Come  this  evening,  after  the  opera,  if  you  have  no  other 
engagement,  and  I  shall  be  very  glad  to  receive  you,"  she 
said,  with  a  smile. 

Lord  Wellrose  handed  her  to  her  carriage,  bowed,  and 
went  away  very  thoughtful. 

And  Suzy  drove  home  to  her  pretty  house  in  Park  Lane, 
to  keep  her  appointment  with  Benny. 

As  soon  as  she  entered  the  hall,  the  footman  in  attend- 
ance touched  his  forehead  and  said  : 

"  If  you  please,  Miss,  the  person  that  was  here  last  night 
have  come  again,  and  is  waiting  to  see  you." 

"  Where  is  he  ?  " 

"  In  the  servants'  hall,  Miss." 

"In  the  servants'  hall!"  echoed  Suzy  angrily. 

"If  you  please,  Miss,  he  rang  the  servants'  bell  at  the 
servants'  door,  and  said  he  would  wait  in  the  servants'  hall, 
himself,"  said  the  footman,  who  strongly  suspected  that  the 
strange  visitor  was  some  poor,  shabby,  disreputable  relation 
of  his  3*oung  mistress. 

"  Then  show  him  into  my  sitting-room.  And  never  keep 
him  waiting  in  the  servants'  hall  again.  He  is  a  very  old 
friend  of  mine.  Do  you  hear  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Miss,"  said  the  man,  touching  his  forehead  as  he 
turned  to  go  upon  his  errand. 

Suzy  went  into  her  bright  little  sitting-room,  fragrant  and 
blooming  with  the  bouquets  that  had  been  showered  upon 
her  the  evening  before ;  and  she  threw  off  her  bonnet  and 
vail,  and  her  rich  India  shawl,  and  sat  down  to  wait  for 
Benny. 

He  came  at  last,  ushered  in  by  the  same  doubting  foot- 
man, who  immediately  shut  the  door  and  withdrew. 

He  was  still  very  pale  and  thin — still  like  the  faded  out 
fac-simile  of  Lord  Wellrose ;  and  his  clothes  were  very, 
very  shabby,  but  his  face  and  hands  were  as  clean  as  those 
of  any  gentleman ;  and  his  fair  hair,  combed  back  from  his 


TWO     FATES. 

broad,  pale  forehead,  turned  into  the  soft  curls  so  familiar  to 
Suzy's  memory  of  his  childhood. 

"  Good-morning,  Benny.  I  am  very  glad  to  see  you. 
Oh,  dear !  I  didn't  mean  that.  I  should  have  said  that  to 
the  Earl  or  anybody.  Benny,  dear,  I  am  gladder,  much 
gladder  to  have  you  back  in  England,  than  I  have  been  of 
anything  else  that  has  happened  to  me  since  you  were  forced 
away,"  she  said,  giving  him  both  her  hands,  as  her  eyes 
filled  with  tears. 

"  You  are  ! — oh,  you  are  wonderfully  good  to  me,  Suzy  !  " 
he  faltered,  with  much  emotion. 

"No,  I'm  not.  I'm  a  heathen,  I  think,  to  have  let  you 
go  away,  Heaven  knows  where,  last  night,  when  I  had  four 
or  five  empty  rooms  in  the  house.  A  very  heathen, 
Benny  ! " 

"Suzy,  you  are  a  saint,  more  like.  And  you  were  right 
to  let  me  go.  Besides,  iny  dear,  I  would  not  have  staid  for 
a  thousand  guineas,"  he  answered  gravely. 

"  But  why  ?  But  sit  down  first,  Benny.  Sit  down,  and 
then  tell  me  what  you  mean — why  you  would  not  have 
staid  in  my  house ;  and,  moreover,  why  you  went  to  the 
servants'  door  this  morning,  and  waited  in  the  servants' 
hall  ?  " 

"  Because,  dear  Suzy,  dear,  fortunate  sister,  I  could  not 
do  otherwise  without  injuring  you.  It  is  not  fit  or  right 
that  I  should  visit  you  at  all.  Much  as  I  longed  to  see  you, 
I  should  not  have  come  here  at  all,  if  I  had  not  so  faithfully 
promised  to  do  so.  When  I  did  come,  I  purposely  rang  at 
the  servants'  door  and  waited  in  the  servants'  hall,  as  became 
the  poor  fellow  that  I  am.  For,  Suzy,  what  am  I  ?  Not  even 
a  ticket-of-leave  man!  Worse  even  than  that!  I  am  a 
returned  convict,  who  had  to  serve  out  his  full  term  of 
punishment." 

Suzy  burst  into  tears  and  wept  vehemently,  saying,  be- 
tween her  sobs : 


196  A     NOBLE     LORD. 

"Oh,  Benny,  Benny,  never,  never  say  anything  like  that 
to  me  again.  It  cuts  through  and  through  my  heart  like  a 
knife !  You  were  sent  out  there  for  the  sins  of  others,  not 
for  your  own.  You  ought  at  least  soon  to  have  had  a 
ticket-of-leave,  and  chance  and  help  to  recover  and  improve! 
But  no,  you  had  neither.  Oh,  Benny,  why  was  it  that  you 
had  neither  ?  I  know  you  deserved  both." 

"Ah,  no,  Suzy;  in  the  law  I  deserved  no  indulgence. 
My  fate  followed  me  even  out  there.  Listen,  dear  Suzy." 

"  Yes,  Benny." 

"  You  knew  Tony,  my  step-father  ?  " 

"  Of  course,  Benny." 

"  And  you  knew  the  Nut  Cracker  ?  " 

"  Nut  Cracker  ?     No,  Benny." 

"No,  of  course  you  didn't.  Well,  he  was  a  pal  of  my 
step-father's,  after  my  step-father  went  entirely  to  the  bad. 
It  was  my  step-father  who  committed  that  burglary  for 
which  I  was  lagged.  I  beg  your  pardon,  Suzy ;  I  should 
have  said  transported.  I  am  trying  to  forget  the  thieves' 
Latin  as  fast  as  I  can,  but  the  force  of  habit  is  very  strong. 
Well,  it  was  Tony,  my  step-father,  who  committed  the 
crime  for  which  I  was  transported.  And  it  was  the  Nut 
Cracker  who  received  the  stolen  goods  and  disposed  of  them, 
and  who  harbored  father  and  me.  I  had  nothing  to  do  with 
the  burglary,  and  knew  nothing  about  it  until  it  was  done 
and  over." 

"Of  course  I  always  knew  that  you  had  nothing  to  do 
with  it,  Benny." 

"But,  you  see,  I  knew  who  did  it,  and  where  the  thieves 
and  the  goods  were  both  to  be  found.  And  then  the  evi- 
dence was  very  strong  against  me  also.  And  I  tell  you, 
Suzy,  it  was  a  great  stretcli  of  clemency,  or  of  policy,  to 
give  me  the  chance,  as  the  Court  did,  to  clear  myself  by 
turning  Queen's  evidence  and  giving  up  the  burglars  !  " 

"Oh,  if  you  had  only,  only  done  it  and  saved  yourself! 


BENJAMIN'S    STORY.  197 

Yon  might  now  be  a  graduate  of  the  Duchess'  school,  with 
a  presentation  to  Oxford,"  wept  Suzy. 

"  Well,  well,  it  was  my  fate  to  be  compelled  to  do  as  I 
did.  I  could  not  tell  on  them  then,  Suzy.  I  only  tell  you 
now,  because  my  doing  so  can  now  in  no  way  hurt  them, 
while  it  will  explain  much  in  my  after  misfortunes." 

"  Yes,  Benny.     Go  on." 


CHAPTER  XX. 
BENJAMIN'S   STORY. 

"  She  bowed  her  head  on  her  breast  in  ruth, 

With  the  rose-buds  loose  iu  her  languid  hands, 
While  he  told  her  tales  of  his  outcast  youth 
In  the  far-oil'  convict  lauds." 

"I  MUST  explain  that,  on  the  voyage  out  to  Van  Die- 
man's  Land,  the  chaplain  on  the  ship  was  very  kind  to  me 
and  gave  me  instructions.  When  we  reached  the  convict 
colony,  I  was  still  kindly  treated  and  put  to  light  labor.  I 
tried  to  do  right,  and  to  please  all  in  authority  over  me, 
and  I  succeeded  in  doing  so." 

"You  were  always  sure  to  please,  dear  Benny;  you 
always  did." 

"Ah!  but  my  fate!  After  some  months  I  was  placed 
out,  as  a  gardener's  boy,  in  the  house  of  a  wealthy  colonist. 
There  also  I  tried  to  do  right,  and  to  please  my  master  and 
mistress,  and  still  I  succeeded." 

"  Of  course,  Benny." 

'•'  But,  ah  !  my  fate ! — I  had  been  in  that  service  about 
fifteen  months,  and  was  liked  and  trusted.  One  night, 
during  the  temporary  absence  of  my  master,  I  was  ordered 
to  sleep  in  the  front  hall  of  the  house,  for  the  better  protec- 
tion of  the  mistress  and  children.  I  slept  in  the  hall  four 
nights,  and  nothing  happened.  On  the  fifth  night  I  was 


198  A     NOBLE     LORD. 

waked  up  by  screams.  I  started  to  my  feet.  It  was  pitch 
dark  in  the  house,  and  through  the  darkness  there  was  the 
sound  of  rushing  feet  and  muttered  oaths,  and  above  all, 
continued  screams.  I  was  groping  toward  the  room  from 
which  the  screams  came,  and  which  was  my  mistress'  room, 
when  there  was  a  sudden  rush  of  some  one  past  me,  and  a 
sudden  flash  of  light  and  crash  of  sound,  that  was  so  close 
it  nearly  blinded  and  deafened  me.  But  in  the  instantane- 
ous flash  I  saw  the  face  of  my  step-father,  with  a  pistol  in 
his  hand,  and  I  saw  the  fall  of  the  woman  he  had  shot,  and 
whose  screams  he  had  silenced  forever." 

"  Oh,  Heaven  of  Heavens  !  how  horrible  !  "  cried  Suzy, 
covering  her  face  with  her  hands. 

"  Then  there  was  the  silence  of  death  in  the  darkness. 
And  then  a  gathered  group  and  a  muttered  conversation} 
and  then  the  flash  of  a  match  and  a  lighted  candle,  which 
showed  me  my  step-father  Tony,  the  Nut  Cracker,  the 
Drum  Breaker,  Cracksman  Jack  and  two  ill-looking  men 
who  were  strangers;  and  the  murdered  woman  in  a  pool  of 
blood,  on  the  floor  at  their  feet. 

"'All  quieted,'  said  one  of  the  strangers,  as  the  light 
flashed. 

"  '  Hello  !  that's  not  so.  Here's  a  kid  must  be  silenced ! ' 
swore  the  other  stranger,  drawing  a  knife. 

"'Let  the  kid  alone!  He  belongs  to  me!'  swore  my 
step-father,  snatching  the  knife  from  the  hand  of  his  com- 
rade. '  That's  my  son,  that  is,  and  I'm  proud  of  him !  As 
skillful  a  snakesman  and  as  faithful  a  pal  as  you'd  find  in 
the  world.  Why,  bless  you,  he  was  lagged  for  us,  when  he 
might  a  been  let  off  if  he'd  listened  to  the  gospel -grinders 
and  peached  on  us  I  An't  that  so,  Cracksman  ?  ' 

"  '  That's  so,'  said  Cracksman  Jack. 

"  'Well,  then,  he  must  go  along  with  us  any  ways/  said 
the  stranger. 

"  In  horror  of  them,  Suzy,  I  refused  to  go.    They  laughed 


BENJAMIN'S    STORY.  199 

in  ray  face,  and  the  Nut  Cracker  took  hold  of  me,  while  the 
others  packed  silver  plate,  jewelry,  money,  clothing  and 
even  food  into  sacks  brought  by  them  for  that  purpose.  I 
implored  my  step-father  by  all  I  had  suffered  for  him  to 
leave  me  alone. 

"  'Would  you  stay  here  to  be  found  and  to  be  forced  to 
put  the  bobbies  on  our  track,  you  little  sarpiut?  "  inquired 
Tony. 

"  I  reminded  him  that  I  had  never  yet  betrayed  him. 

"  'Well,  then,  you  know  if  we  was  to  leave  you  here,  and 
you  the  only  one  left  alive,  you'd  be  forced  to  give  a  full 
and  partic'lar  account  of  this  here  ewent,  or  else  to  be 
scragged  as  an  accomplish.  And  you  might  be  scragged 
whether  or  no.  And  so  the  long  and  short  of  it  is  this,  that 
we  must  do  one  thing  or  the  tother  with  you — we  must 
either  take  you  with  us,  or  kill  you  where  you  stand.' 

"'Kill  me  where  I  stand,'  said  I. 

" '  Now,  it's  all  for  your  own  sake,  you  know,  so  I  think 
we'll  take  you  with  us.  What  do  you  say,  pals  ? '  he  in- 
quired of  his  companions. 

"  '  Brain  him,  and  be  done  with  it ! '  said  one. 

"'Yes,  quiet  him  that  way!'  said  another. 

"'Fetch  him  along  with  us,'  said  the  Nut  Cracker. 
'He  stood  by  us  in  our  trouble,  and  was  game  through 
the  whole  on't.' 

"  So,  Suzy,  they  decided  to  take  me  with  them.  I  re- 
sisted to  the  last.  I  had  rather  died  then  and  there,  than 
have  gone  with  them,  I  had  such  a  horror  of  them.  I  had 
been  used — too  used  to  thieves,  but  not  to  murderers!  And 
oh  !  I  had  by  this  time  found  out,  that  in  order  to  escape 
with  all  their  booty,  they  had  murdered  all  in  the  house — 
mother,  babes,  female  servants  —  all  but  myself,  who  im- 
plored them  to  finish  their  bloody  work  and  kill  me." 

With  a  slight  cry,  Suzy  hid  her  face. 

"Forgive  me,  dear,  for  telling  you  these  horrible  things," 
said  Benny. 


200  A     NOBLE      LORD. 

"  Go  on.  If  you  could  live  through  them,  I  can  surely 
listen  to  them.  Go  on." 

"I  resisted  to  the  last:  but  what  could  a  slight  hoy  do 
against  six  determined  men?  I  hoped  that  they  would  kill 
me  when  one  of  them  raised  his  pistol  ;  but  instead  of  fir- 
ing it,  he  struck  me  a  stunning  blow  on  the  head.  That 
was  the  last  I  knew,  until  I  opened  my  eyes  and  found 
myself  in  the  bush." 

"  Your  captors  were  the  terrible  Bushmen  of  the  Colo- 
nies, then  ?  " 

"  They  were.  I  learned  afterward  that  ray  step-father, 
Tony,  and  the  Nut  Cracker  and  Cracksman  Jack  and  the 
Drum  Breaker  had  all  been  arrested  and  tried  at  the  Old 
Bailey,  for  the  robbery  of  a  bank  and  the  wounding  of  a 
watchman  ;  and  that  they  had  been  convicted,  and  sen- 
tenced to  transportation  for  life.  As  very  desperate  char- 
acters, they  had  been  sent  to  Tasman's  Peninsula,  and  set 
to  the  hardest  labor,  under  the  severest  restrictions.  By  a 
deep  concerted  plot,  they  murdered  their  guard  and  made 
their  escape.  Subsequently  they  joined  the  most  formida- 
ble gang  of  bush  rangers  in  the  colony,  and  they  lived  by 
murder,  robbery  and  rapine." 

Suzy  shuddered. 

"But  their  end  was  drawing  near,  dear  Suzy!  I  wan- 
dered with  them  in  the  bush,  their  most  unwilling  captive, 
until  at  length  a  strong  body  of  soldiers,  in  conjunction 
with  armed  police,  was  sent  in  pursuit  of  them,  traced  them 
to  one  of  their  rendezvous,  laid  in  ambush  there,  and  sur- 
prised and  surrounded  them.  There  was  a  desperate  fight, 
for  they  were  desperate  men.  But  every  one  of  the  gang 
was  killed  or  taken.  My  wretched  step-father  was  mor- 
tally wounded,  and  he  died  in  jail  before  his  trial  came  on. 
Cracksman  Jack  was  killed  outright  in  the  fight.  The  Nut 
Cracker  and  the  Drum  Breaker  were  afterward  executed." 

"  Oh  !  horrible  !  most  horrible  !    But  you,  Benny  ?  you  ?  " 


BENJAMIN'S    STORY.  201 

"  I,  Suzy,  told  my  story — told  how  I  had  been  violently 
carried  off  by  the  Bushmen.  There  was  really  not  evidence 
enough  to  convict  me  of  any  complicity  with  them,  but  the 
circumstances  of  my  near  relationship  to  the  most  notorious 
of  the  Bushmen  were  so  suspicions,  and  also  the  record  of 
my  trial  and  conviction  at  the  Old  Bailey  was  so  much 
against  me,  that  all  late  good  conduct  was  forgotten,  and  I 
was  sent  to  Tasman's  Peninsula,  to  join  a  gang  of  the  very 
worst  convicts." 

"  Oh,  Benny!  Benny!"  moaned  Suzy. 

"  Don't  weep,  dear.  I  carried  with  me  the  memory  of 
all  the  good  instruction  I  had  received  from  the  chaplain  at 
Newgate,  and  from  the  missionary  on  board  the  convict 
transport  ship.  This  saved  me,  Suzy,  even  in  that  hell, 
with  devils  for  my  companions.  It  saved  me.  There  were 
very  few  chances  of  improvement  there,  but  I  made  the 
most  of  all.  After  five  j'ears  of  bitter  slavery  there,  I  was 
given  a  little  liberty  to  work  for  myself,  under  certain  re- 
strictions, and  to  receive  a  part  of  my  wages.  I  then  tried 
my  best  to  do  right,  and  to  please  those  in  authority  over 
me,  and  again  I  succeeded  ;  but,  Suzy,  the  old  black  cloud 
hung  too  heavily  over  me.  And  I  never  got  a  ticket-of- 
leave.  I  had  galling  restrictions  upon  my  liberty.  The 
weary  years  rolled  on,  and  I  grew  more  and  more  home- 
sick and  heart-sick,  as  the  time  of  my  exile  approached  its 
end.  But  every  night,  just  so  soon  as  my  head  would  be 
upon  the  pillow,  I  would  fall  asleep  and  dream  of  home. 
In  effect  every  night,  in  my  dreams,  I  came  home.  But  I 
have  told  you  all  this  before,  dear." 

"  Yes,"  said  Suzy,  weeping  still,  "yes.  Oh,  how  I  wish 
you  had  found  my  dear  father  and  mother  out  there  !  They 
are  wealthy  sheep  farmers  now,  Benny,  and  they  would  have 
employed  you,  and  took  you  right  into  the  bosom  of  their 
family  and  loved  you  like  a  son.  I  know  they  would.  How 
strange  and  unfortunate  you  did  not  meet  them  ! " 


202  A     NOBLE     LORD. 

"  More  unfortunate  than  strange,  dear  Suzy.  Australasia 
is  a  large  place — Australia  alone  nearly  as  large  as  Europe. 
To  what  part  of  the  island  did  they  emigrate,  dear  ?  " 

"  To  Carpentaria,  in  North  Australia." 

"  And  I,  you  see,  was  on  Tasman's  Peninsula,  a  thousand 
miles  or  so  south  of  them,  with  no  knowledge  of  their  being 
out  there,  and  with  no  liberty  to  seek  them,  if  I  had  known 
where  they  lived." 

"  Benny,  dear,  what  do  you  intend  to  do,  now  that  you 
have  come  here  ?  " 

"  I  have  not  thought  yet.  You  know  it  will  be  difficult, 
if  not  impossible  for  me,  a  returned  convict,  to  get  emplo}7- 
ment  from  any  one,  for  no  one  will  employ  a  stranger  with- 
out a  recommendation.  And  who  could  give  me  a  recom- 
mendation ?" 

"  /  could,  Benny.     And  I  would,  heartily." 

"  But  you  should  not,  Suzy.  I  would  never  consent  to 
that." 

"But  why?" 

"  Because  it  would  bring  reproach  and  trouble  on  you." 

"  I  do  not  care  if  it  should.     But  how  could  it  do  so?  " 

"  In  this  way.  You  would  give  me  a  recommendation  and 
a  reference  to  yourself.  Upon  the  strength  of  that,  some 
one  would  employ  me.  Then  some  one  else  would  be  sure 
to  find  out  that  I  was  a  returned  convict,  and  would  expose 
me.  Why,  Suzy,  you  would  even  be  liable  to  criminal  pros- 
ecution, for  giving  a  false  character,  my  dear." 

"  But  it  wouldn't  be  a  false  character.  If  I  were  to  say 
all  that  is  good  of  you  now,  Benny,  it  would  be  true." 

"Ah,  but,  dear,  opposed  to  all  your  faith  in  me  would  be 
the  hard  fact  of  my  being  a  returned  convict." 

"  Oh,  Benny,  ruy  poor  brother,  what  can  I  do  for  you  ?  " 

"Nothing,  Suzy.  I  am  fit  for  nothing  but  service,  and 
no  one  would  employ  me." 

"  Benny,  I  am  your  sister — your  heart's  dear  sister  !    Let 


BENJAMIN'S    STORY.  203 

me  do  a  sister's  good  part  toward  you,  as  I  do  for  Bill.  Let 
me  advance  the  funds  to  set  you  up  in  some  business  that 
would  be  to  your  taste,  Benny." 

"  I  thank  you  deeply,  dear,  happy  little  sister;  but  I  can- 
not accept  your  generous  offer.  I  cannot  and  will  not 
sponge  upon  your  resources,  little  sister." 

"  Oh,  Benny,  to  let  me  advance  the  funds  to  set  you  up  in 
some  business  would  not  be  sponging  on  me.  I  only  want 
to  loan  you  the  money,  Benny.  You  would  pay  it  back  to 
me  again." 

"  No,  Suzy,  I  should  lose  it  and  never  be  able  to  repay  it. 
"No,  Suzy,  I  know  nothing  of  business,  and  I  should  be  sure 
to  fail." 

"  Benny,  you  will  break  my  heart  if  you  don't  let  me  do 
something  for  you  !  Benny,  I  have  no  agent  but  my  brother, 
and  my  business  bores  him.  Couldn't  you  be  my  agent, 
Benny?" 

"  And  supplant  your  brother  ?     No,  Suzy  !  " 

"  You  need  not  supplant  him,  but  only  supplement  him. 
I  have  business  enough  to  employ  two  such  agents  as  Bill 
makes.  Be  one  of  them,  Benny." 

"No,  dear  Suzy,  I  am  not  fit  to  be  your  agent  or  your 
brother's  co-laborer.  I  should  bring  discredit  on  you  both  ; 
and  that  I  never  will  do." 

Suzy  burst  into  tears  and  wept  passionately,  sobbing  and 
gasping  forth  her  lamentations. 

"  I  am  wretched !  I  am  miserable  !  And  people  think 
me  so  fortunate  and  happy  !  Oh  !  if  they  only  knew  how  I 
suffer,  they  would  pit}"  instead  of  envying  me,  who  cannot 
even  save  or  help  my  own  old  playmate  in  his  bitter  need  ! 
What  is  fame  or  fortune  to  me,  when  my  heart  is  bleeding 
and  aching  all  the  time  ?  My  dear  father  and  mother  are 
far  from  me  !  I  shall  scarcely  ever  see  them  any  more  ! 
My  sisters  and  brothers,  all  except  one,  are  gone  !  And  a 
stranger  fills  my  mother's  place  in  my  home  !  And  I  am 


204  A     NOBLE     LORD. 

lonely,  lonely,  lonely  !  And  now  when  my  fortune  could  at 
least  bring  me  some  happiness  by  enabling  me  to  help  my 
old  playmate,  he  is  too  proud  to  let  me  help  him  !  " 

"  Suzy  !  '  proud  ? '  I,  proud  ?  Of  what,  oh  !  Heavens  ! 
have  I  to  be  proud?  I,  who  have  been  ground  down  to  the 
dust !  No,  dear  sister,  I  am  not  proud,  but  I  hope  that  I 
am  too  just  and  generous  to  take  the  least  advantage  of 
your  magnanimity,"  said  the  poor  young  man  earnestly. 

"  But  you  will  not  let  me  help  you  !  You  will  not  let 
me  do  a  single  thing  for  you  !  And  I  wish,  I  do  !  that  you 
and  I  were  back  again  in  the  poor,  old  house,  in  the  poor, 
old  times  when  we  used  to  hunger  and  shiver  and  play 
together;  for  we  loved  one  another  like  true  brother  and 
sister  then,  and  we  were  happy  in  our  poverty !  Oh  yes !  I 
wish  that  you  and  I  could  go  back  to  the  poor,  old  times,  in 
the  poor,  old  tenement  house  again  ;  or  else  that  we  were 
both  in  our  quiet  graves,"  she  said,  with  a  fresh  burst  of 
grief. 

The  poor  outcast  bowed  his  head,  but  whether  in  assent 
to  her  words,  in  amen  to  her  prayer,  or  in  submission  to  her 
will,  she  could  not  know  until  he  spoke. 

"  Suzy,  little  faithful  sister,  weep  no  more.  You  shall 
help  me,  if  you  will,  in  the  only  way  in  which  you  can  do 
so  without  compromising  yourself — in  the  only  way  in  which 
you  can  make  me  happy. 

"  Tell  me  !  Tell  me  !  Tell  me  quickly  ! "  she  exclaimed 
vehemently. 

"  '  Make  me  as  one  of  thy  hired  servants/  "  he  said  very 
gravely. 

"  Benny  !  Benny !     What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  I  told  you,  dear,  that  I  was  fit  for  nothing  but  service. 
Take  me  into  your  service,  Suzy.  Give  me  a  footman's 
place  in  your  household." 

"  A  footman's  place  in  my  household  !  " 

"  I  will  never,  never,  never  degrade  you  so,  my  brother  !  " 
she  indignantly  exclaimed. 


BENJAMINS     STORY. 

"  It  will  be  no  degradation,  little  sister.  It  will  be  a 
service  of  affection  and  devotion  that  I  shall  render  you. 
Besides,  I  shall  have  the  comfort  of  honestly  earning  my 
own  bread ;  and  above  all,  the  happiness  of  living  in  the 
same  house  with  my  happy  little  sister,  and  of  seeing  her 
every  day.  Take  this  into  serious  consideration,  Suzy." 

"  I  will  not  take  it  into  consideration  for  a  single  moment. 
1  will  never,  never  do  such  a  thing  as  that,  Benny." 

"  I  think  you  will,  dear  Suzy  ;  because  you  will  come  to 
know  that  it  will  be  the  only  thing  you  can  possibly  do  for 
me.  Good-morning,  Suzy." 

"  You  are  not  going  ?  "  she  said,  drying  her  eyes. 

"Yes,  dear,  I  must  not  stay  long,  and  set  your  household 
wondering  what  business  such  a  poor  fellow  as  I  am  can 
have  with  their  mistress." 

"  What  do  I  care,  and  why  should  you  care,  how  much 
they  wonder  at  us,  so  that  we  do  right?  You  will  come 
again  at  this  hour  to-morrow,  Benny  ?  " 

"  No,  Suzy.  I  must  not  come  again  to  see  you.  It  is 
not  fit  that  I  should  do  so." 

"  Not  fit !  Oh,  Benny  !  when  so  many  not  half  so  good 
as  you  are  come  to  see  me,  and  whom  custom  obliges  me  to 
receive  !  Oh,  Benny,  come  again  to-morrow." 

"No;  I  cannot  come  here  again  as  a,  visitor.  I  cannot 
come  here  again  until  you  take  me  into  your  service — which 
you  will  sooner  or  later  do,  Suzy  ;  and  when  I  can  see  you 
every  day,  and  watch  over  you  faithfully.  And  then  it 
must  be  no  longer  Suzy  and  Benny  between  us,  since  we 
will  be  no  longer  little  children  on  terms  of  equality ;  it 
must  be —  How  do  people  address  you,  Suzy  ?  On  the 
bills  you  are  'Arielle' — nothing  else.  But  surely  your 
visitors  and  servants  do  not  call  you  'Arielle.'  " 

"  No,  Benny,  they  do  not.  It  is  so  extremely  ridiculous. 
They  call  me  '  Mademoiselle  Arielle,'  as  though  I  were  a 
Freuch  woman — because  I  was  educated  in  France,  and 


206  A      NOBLE      LORD. 

because  I  sing  in  the  opera,  I  suppose.  Lord  knows  why 
they  do  it,  2  don't.  My  English  servants  call  me  simply 
'Miss.'3' 

" Either  will  do.  Good  morning  'Mademoiselle.'  When 
you  require  a  footman,  and  are  willing  to  take  one  without  a 
character,  I  shall  be  at  your  orders,"  said  the  poor  young 
man  jestingly,  so  as  to  raise  her  spirits,  as  he  turned  to  leave 
the  room. 

"  Benny,  come  back  to  me  !  Where  are  you  stopping  ?  " 
she  anxiously  inquired. 

"  In  the  old  house  at  Junk  Lane  by  night.  Nowhere  in 
particular  by  day." 

"  And  you  will  not  come  to  see  me  to-morrow  ?  "  she 
pleaded. 

"  No,  dear  Suzy  ;  for  your  own  sake  I  must  not." 
"  But  if  I  consent  to  take  that  proposition  of  yours  into 
consideration,  will  you  not  come  to-morrow  to  talk  it  over 
with  me  ?  " 

"  No,  Suzy ;  for  it  would  be  quite  useless,  and  I  must  not 
visit  you  here  unless  in  a  case  of  the  greatest  necessity,  if 
such  should  arise.  No ;  I  have  said  all  that  can  be  said  in 
favor  of  my  plan.  You  will  think  of  it,  and  if  you  think 
favorably  of  it,  as  I  trust  you  wrill,  you  can  send  to  let  me 
know  that  you  have  decided  to  engage  me.  Then  I  will 
come  to  you  as  your  faithful  servitor,  and  upon  no  other 
terms.  I  would  die  before  I  would  do  anything  to  compro- 
mise you,  Suzy.  Good  morning,  little  sister." 

She  held  her  hand  out  to  him.  He  raised  it  to  his  lips, 
bowed  and  withdrew. 

And  Suzy,  left  alone,  fell  to  weeping  again. 
"  The  only  one  who  has  come  back  to  me  out  of  my  lost 
childhood,  and  the  dearest  one  of  all,  and  he  will  not  let  me 
lift  him  up  !  "  she  complained 

Her  lamentations  were  interrupted  by  a  knock  at  the  door. 
"  Come  in,"  she  said  crossly. 


BENJAMIN'S    STORY.  207 

It  was  her  costumer. 

"  This  new  dress  for  Mary  Stuart,  Mademoiselle,  will  you 
have  it  trimmed  with  gold  or  silver  lace,  or  seed  pearls  ?  " 
inquired  the  costumer. 

"  Trim  it  with  black  crape,  if  you  like,  I  don't  care,  what 
you  trim  it  with,"  snapped  "  Mademoiselle."  Then  hlaming 
herself,  she  said,  "I  beg  your  pardon,  Madame.  I  did  not 
mean  to  speak  so  uncivilly ;  but  indeed  I  am  vexed.  Pray 
use  your  own  perfect  taste  in  the  decoration  of  the  robe,  and 
I  shall  be  quite  satisfied  with  it." 

The  costumer  smiled,  nodded  and  withdrew. 

At  the  same  hour  Benny  went  back  to  his  poor  lodgings 
in  the  house  at  Junk  Lane,  where  he  had  been  permitted  to 
leave  his  box  of  clothes  with  the  old  woman  who  had  charge 
of  the  place. 

As  the  ragged  school  was  dismissed  for  the  day,  Benny 
got  leave  to  go  up  to  the  room  where  he  slept  at  night,  and 
where  he  had  left  his  trunk. 

The  room  had  six  small  single  beds  in  it,  but  nothing 
more. 

At  this  hour  there  was  no  living  creature  in  it  except  him- 
self. 

He  drew  his  box  out  from  under  his  bed,  unlocked  it  and 
took  from  it  a  little  parcel. 

He  sat  upon  the  side  of  the  bed  and  unrolled  and  looked 
at  it. 

It  consisted  of  a  baby's  fine  white  merino  sack  embroid- 
ered with  white  silk,  and  a  baby's  little  fine  white  knitted 
woollen  sock,  with  white  silk  cord  and  tassels. 

He  took  the  sack  in  his  hands  and  narrowly  examined  the 
embroidery,  thinking : 

"  That  poor,  wretched  Tony  Brice  gave  me  this  on  his 
death-bed.  He  had  managed  to  keep  it  through  all  the 
vicissitudes  of  his  miserable  life.  Pie  had  hoped,  he  said, 
that  some  day  it  might  make  my  fortune  and  his  own.  And 


208  A     NOBLE     LORD. 

he  went  on  to  tell  me  that  I  was  not  the  son  of  Madge 
Hurst  whom  he  married,  and  consequently  that  I  was  not  his 
step-son.  He  told  me  that  I  was  the  son  of  a  lady  ;  that  I 
was  palmed  off  upon  Madge  Hurst  in  place  of  her  own  child, 
which  died  soon  after  birth ;  that  this  was  confessed  to 
Madge  by  the  midwife  who  attended  her,  and  who,  in  con- 
junction with  the  doctor,  had  practised  the  fraud  upon  her ; 
but  that  was  all,  even  the  midwife  could  tell,  for  she  died  be- 
fore she  could  utter  the  doctor's  name.  And  a  parcel  con- 
taining this  little  sack  and  this  little  sock,  supposed  to  be  a 
part  of  my  infant  outfit,  and  the  work  of  my  mother's  hands, 
and  which  was  found  by  Madge  among  the  effects  of  the 
midwife,  is  all  that  they  could  find  to  afford  a  clue  to  my 
birth.  Madge  kept  it  carefully  as  long  as  she  retained  her 
senses  or  her  liberty.  Then  Tony  took  charge  of  it  and  con- 
trived to  keep  it  safe  through  all  the  troubles  and  changes  of 
his  life,  hoping  some  time  to  profit  by  it.  Ah  !  if  they  had 
only  possessed  the  wit  and  knowledge  to  discover  what  I  now 
see,  they  might  have  been  more  successful  in  their  search  for 
my  parents.  For  here  is  the  sure  clue.  On  the  top  of  the 
little  slipper,  and  around  the  border  of  the  sack,  among  the 
embroidered  wreaths  of  eglantines,  is  wrought  the  crest  of 
the  Barons  of  Linlithgow" 


THE     TWO.  209 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

THE    TWO. 

She  with  jewels  on  head  and  hands, 

And  I  in  the  garb  of  a  servant  poor, 
While  between  us  both  there  stands 

A  thousand  years  er  more  ! 
There  are  some  things  hard  t-o  understand ; 

Oh.  help  us,  Lord !   to  trust  in  Thee ! 
But  I'll  ne'er  forget  her  soft  white  hand. 

Or  her  eyes  as  she  looked  on  me. — OWEN  MKBKDITH. 

THREE  days  passed,  during  which  Benny  haunted  the 
neighborhood  of  Covent  Garden  Theatre,  morning  and 
evening,  for  the  pleasure  of  catching  a  glimpse  of  Suzy,  as 
she  went  back  and  forth  to  the  rehearsal  or  to  the  opera. 

But  while  thus  watching  for  her,  he  tried  to  avoid  attract- 
ing her  attention,  or  that  of  any  one  else. 

Oa  the  evening  of  the  third  day,  after  he  had  seen  her 
go  in  at  the  stage  door  for  the  opera,  and  while  he  was 
waiting  weary  hours  to  see  her  corne  out  at  the  end  of  the 
performance,  a  man  from  the  theatre  came  up  and  addressed 
him. 

"Be  your  name  Benjamin  Hurst?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Benny,  wondering. 

"  Then  I  were  to  give  you  this.  It's  a  bank  note,  I 
shouldn't  wonder.  Marmselle  is  werry  charitable,  and 
flings  money  about  like  dried  leaves  in  Nowember.  And 
you  look  as  if  you  might  be  a  hobject,"  said  the  man,  as  he 
handed  Benny  a  sealed  envelope  and  hurried  away. 

Benny  was  not  acquainted  with  Suzy's  handwriting,  but 
he  suspected  this  note  to  be  from  her. 

He  took  it  to  the  nearest  gas-light,  opened  it  and  read  as 
follows : 

<{  DEAK   BENNY — Come   to   my  house   early  to-morrow 
morning.     Come  on  your  own  terms. — SUZY." 
13 


210  A      NOBLE      LORD. 

He  pressed  the  little  note  to  his  lips  and  put  it  in  his 
bosom. 

He  waited  until  she  came  out,  wrapped  in  her  soft  white- 
hooded  opera  cloak,  and  escorted  by  Lord  Wellrose,  who 
carefully  handed  her  to  her  carriage. 

He  saw  the  door  close,  and  then  he  turned  away  to  his 
humble  lodgings  in  Junk  Lane. 

Very  early  in  the  morning  he  arose  and  carefully  brushed 
his  poor  clothes,  and  washed  his  face  and  combed  his  hair; 
and  thus  having  made  himself  as  clean  and  neat  as  his  cir- 
cumstances would  permit,  he  set  out  to  walk  to  Park  Lane 
to  keep  his  appointment  with  Suzy. 

The  distance  was  long,  but  he  had  no  money  to  pay  his 
omnibus  fare.  Therefore  he  had  started  early  to  walk  all 
the  way.  ' 

It  was  ten  o'clock  when  he  reached  the  little  palace 

In  opposition  to  Suzy's  repeatedly  expressed  wishes,  he 
rang  again  at  the  bell  of  the  servants'  door. 

On  being  admitted,  he  inquired  for  Mademoiselle  Arielle, 
saying  also,  that  he  had  been  ordered  to  wait  on  her  at  this 
hour. 

He  was  told  in  reply  that  Mademoiselle  was  at  home,  and 
had  given  orders  that  he  should  be  shown  to  her  presence 
immediately  upon  his  arrival. 

Benny  took  off  his  poor  hat  and  followed  the  footman, 
who  conducted  him  up  stairs  to  the  Rose  Parlor,  where  he 
had  last  seen  Suzy. 

"The  young  man  Hurst,  if  you  please,  Miss,"  said  the 
footman,  throwing  open  the  door  for  Benny  to  enter,  and 
then  closing  it  and  retreating. 

Suzy  was  dressed  in  a  plain  white  muslin  robe,  and 
seated  at  a  little  table,  upon  which  lay  some  sheets  of 
music. 

She  immediately  arose  and  held  out  her  hand,  saying 
earnestly : 


THE     TWO.  211 

"  I  am  very  glad  to  see  you,  Benny,  though  you  do  come 
only  on  your  own  hard  terms.  And  I  only  agree  to  these 
terms  because  you  will  not  permit  me  to  help  you  on  any 
others,  and  because  also,  having  you  near  me,  I  hope  to 
induce  you  to  let  me  serve  you,  my  brother,  in  some  better 
way.  Pray  sit  down." 

"  I  thank  you,  Suzy,"  said  the  young  man,  seating  him- 
self, for  in  truth  he  was  very  tired  with  his  long  walk. 

"  Now,  brother,  dear,  we  can  talk  plainly  with  each  other, 
can  we  not  ?  " 

"Yes,  little  sister,  but  it  must  be  for  the  last  time.  After 
I  become  your  servant  there  can  be  no  more  such  talk 
between  us." 

"  Oh,  dear  me  !  dear  me  ! "  mourned  the  poor  child, 
wringing  her  hands. 

It  seemed  very  hard  to  her  to  speak  of  wages  to  her  old 
playmate.  In  fact,  after  several  efforts,  she  gave  it  up,  and 
said  : 

"  Benny,  I  would  rather  write  what  I  have  to  say  to  you 
in  regard  to  one  particular  of  your  engagement,  if  you  don't 
object." 

"Anything  you  please,  Suzy." 

"  Everything  else  but  that,  I  can  talk  about.  I  hope  you 
will  feel  no  scruple  in  accepting  this  small  advance  on 
account,  Benny?"  she  said,  slipping  a  sealed  envelope  into 
his  hand. 

"  No,  Suzy,  especially  as  it  is  really  necessary  to  procure 
my  livery  before  entering  your  service.  Your  liver}'  is  blue, 
white  and  silver,  I  think.  I  wonder  who  makes  it  up." 

"  You  are  not  to  go  into  livery !  I  won't  have  that !  " 
exclaimed  Suzy,  bursting  into  angry  tears.  "  You  wish 
quite  to  break  my  heart,  Benny,  I  believe !  But  I  can  be 
obstinate  as  well  as  you !  And  I  say  I  will  not  have  you 
degraded  by  any  badge  of  servitude !  Livery,  indeed  ! 
You  in  livery  !  I  should  as  soon  expect  to  see  the  Earl  of 


212  A      NOB  L  E     LOR  D. 

Wellrose  in  livery  !  the  Earl  of  Wellrose,  who  is  f-o  inuch 
like  j'ou  that  you  and  he  might  be  taken  for  own  brothers!" 

Benny  started  and  changed  color. 

Suzy,  too  much  absorbed  in  her  own  passionate  denuncia- 
tions, did  not  perceive  his  emotion,  but  continued  vehe- 
mently : 

"  Yes,  that  he  is !  enough  like  you  to  be  your  own 
brother !  And  he  may  be  your  own  brother,  for  aught  1 
know  !  "  she  added  maliciously. 

"  Suzy,"  said  the  youug  man,  speaking  with  forced  calm- 
ness, "as  you  are  so  well  acquainted  with  the  Earl  of  Well- 
rose,  do  you  happen  to  know  whether  he  is  in  any  way 
related  to  the  Scottish  house  of  Seton-Linlithgow  ?  " 

Suzy  looked  up  at  him  from  the  corners  of  her  tearful 
eyes  and  answered  saucily  : 

"  Is  the  Earl  of  Wellrose  related  to  the  Scottish  house  of 
Seton-Linlithgow?  Well,  I  should  really  think  he  was. 
On  the  surest  side  of  the  house,  too :  on  his  mother's  side. 
Why,  I  thought  every  one  knew  that  his  father,  the  Duke 
of  Cheviot,  married  Eglantine  Seton,  Baroness  Linlithgow 
in  her  own  right.  What's  the  matter,  Benny  ?"  she  sud- 
denly inquired,  seeing  the  young  man  grow  very  pale,  and 
throw  his  hands  to  his  head. 

"  A  sudden  turn.  Never  heed  me,  Suzy.  What  were 
you  saying,  dear,  about  the  livery  ?  " 

"  I  was  saying  that  you  should  never,  never,  NEVEK  be 
degraded  by  such  a  badge  of  servitude,"  began  the  young 
girl,  flushing  up  again  with  indignation  at  the  ideas  recalled. 
"  I  say  that  I  should  just  as  soon  expect  to  see  the  Earl  of 
Wellrose  in  livery  !  there  !  " 

"  You  are  right.  Suzy ;  I  will  not  wear  the  livery." 

"  Thank  you  for  conceding  so  much,  Benny.  I  was 
afraid  that  you  would  hold  out  for  the  livery.  Now  listen 
to  me  further.  Since  you  will  serve,  at  least  you  shall  serve 
no  one  but  me.  You  shall  stand  near  my  chair  at  meal- 


THE     TWO.  213 

times,  and  never  leave  it.  You  shall  not  so  much  as  hand 
a  chair,  or  a  plate,  or  a  glass,  or  anything  whatever  to  any 
person  present  except  to  me.  The  footman  in  livery  shall 
wait  upon  every  one  else.  You  shall  wait  on  no  one  else 
but  me.  And  no  one  shall  wait  on  me  but  you.  That  will 
be  a  bond  between  us.  And  oh,  Benny,  I  have  just  thought 
of  something,  and  I  wonder  I  did  not  think  of  it  before ! " 

"  Yes,  Suzy." 

"This  is  what  it  is:  You  shall  be  my  butler  and  house 
steward.  Since  you  insist  upon  taking  nothing  better  than 
a  service  with  me,  you  shall  take  the  best  service  in  my  gift. 
You  shall  be  both  butler  and  house  steward." 

"  But,  little  sister,  shall  I  not  be  displacing  some  one 
else?" 

"No;  for  I  have  neither  butler  nor  steward,  nor  ever 
have  had." 

"Nor  ever  would  have,  but  for  your  goodness  in  trying 
to  make  a  better  position  for  me,"  said  the  young  man  with 
emotion. 

"I  am  not  so  sure  of  that.  I  certainly  need  both  butler 
and  house  steward ;  and  you  shall  be  both,  Benny,  and  be 
at  the  head  of  my  household,  and  keep  the  keys  of  the 
wine  cellar,  and  pay  the  wages  of  the  servants.  And  when 
we  go  back  to  Paris,  you  shall  go  with  us  there,  Benny,  if 
you  will.  And  we  shall  never  be  parted  in  this  world 
again,  Benny,  unless  you  wish  it,"  said  Suzy,  in  a  tremulous 
but  happy  tone. 

"  Heaven  knows  I  never  wish  to  leave  you,"  answered 
the  young  man,  in  an  agitated  voice. 

"  Then  that  is  settled,  my  good  brother.  You  will  come 
to-morrow,  to  enter  upon  your — office  ?  "  inquired  Suzy, 
after  hesitating  for  a  word. 

"Yes,  little  sister,  I  will  come  to-morrow." 

"For,  after  all,''  said  the  young  girl  cheerfully,  "  it  will 
be  an  office,  rather  than  a  service,  that  you  will  have  with 


214  A      NOBLE      LORD. 

me.  Why,  dear  me  !  a  Queen  has  always  a  domestic  officer 
called  the  '  Master  of  the  Household.'  And  they  call  me 
the  'Queen  of  Song.'  So  why  may  not  I  set  np  a  'Master 
of  the  Household  ?  '  "  she  added,  laughing. 

So  delighted  she  was  to  think  that  she  had  found  a  place 
in  her  establishment  that  Benny  would  take,  and  that  was 
not  quite  menial. 

"Little  sister,"  said  the  young  man,  "I  cannot  now  say 
much — my  heart  is  too  full.  But  I  am  deeply  grateful — " 

She  put  her  hand  upon  his  lips. 

"  Hush,  Benny,  hush  !  That  word  has  no  business  be- 
tween you  and  me.  We  have  been  brother  and  sister  in 
our  infancy  and  childhood,  with  but  one  interest  between 
us.  If  I  had  had  my  will,  we  would  have  been  brother  and 
sister  up  to  this  day.  But  fate  was  against  us  both.  But 
as  far  as  you  will  let  it  be  done,  we  will  be  brother  and  sis- 
ter again,  and  to  the  end  of  our  lives.  And  now,  good  old 
brother,  it  is  time  for  me  to  go  rehearsal." 

While  plie  spoke  there  came  a  rap  at  the  door. 

"Come  in,"  she  said. 

A  footman  entered. 

"  If  you  please,  Miss,  the  brougham  is  at  the  door." 

"Very  well,  Smith,"  she  carelessly  answered  the  footman. 
Then  turning  to  Benny,  she  said  very  formally : 

"  Mr.  Hurst,  I  shall  expect  you  to  enter  upon  your  duties 
to--morrow  morning." 

Benny  bowed  low  in  reply,  and  then  left  the  room. 

"  The  house  steward,  Smith.  You  will  in  future  take  all 
your  orders  from  him,"  she  said  in  careless  explanation,  as 
she  put  on  her  hat  and  mantle,  that  were  lying  on  the  sofa 
beside  her. 

"  Yes,  Miss,"   answered  the  footman. 

And  when  he  had  attended  his  mistress  to  her  carriage, 
and  returned  to  the  servants'  hall,  he  informed  his  fellow- 
domestics  that  their  young  mistress  was  about  to  provida 


THE      TWO.  215 

for  one  of  her  poor  relations,  by  making  him  her  house 
steward. 

"  One  of  the  Yerl  of  Wellrose's  poor  relations,  you  het- 
ter  say,  for  there  never  was  two  peas  so  much  alike  as  them 
two,"  said  Miss  Jenny  Smith,  the  footman's  sister  and 
Suzy's  dressing  maid. 

And  so  it  was  quite  settled,  in  the  servant's  hall,  that  the 
new  house  steward  was  some  poor,  unacknowledged  kinsman 
of  the  noble  Earl  of  Wellrose,  whom  his  lordship  had  rec- 
ommended to  their  mistress. 

Meanwhile  Suzy  went  to  her  rehearsal  at  Covent  Gar- 
den Theatre,  where  she  sang  with  even  more  animation 
than  usual. 

And  Benny  walked  very  thoughtfully  away  from  the 
house.  He  had  much  to  occupy  his  mind. 

A  week  before  this  he  had  arrived  in  England,  after  his 
fourteen  years'  absence,  and  had  been  filled  with  the  deep 
delight  that  only  a  returning  exile  knows,  once  more  to 
touch  his  native  soil,  to  view  his  native  sky,  to  breathe  his 
native  air. 

But  then  had  followed  the  feeling  of  deep  desolation,  the 
sense  of  his  own  solitude  in  the  crowded  city. 

But  now  all  that  was  changed  ! 

Suzy,  once  his  dear  little  child  friend,  but  whom  lie  had 
not  ventured  to  seek,  not  knowing  how  prosperity,  wealth 
and  fame  might  have  affected  her,  Suzy  —  the  celebrated 
singer  whom  he  worshipped  only  at  a  distance — Suzy  had 
found  him  out,  had  sought  him  and  drawn  him  to  her  home 
and  had  shown  herself  the  very  same  dear,  loving,  trust- 
ing little  sister  that  she  had  been  to  him  in  their  poverty- 
stricken  infancy  and  childhood. 

And  now  she  had  made  an  office  for  him  in  her  house,  in 
which  he  could  really  be  of  use  to  her,  and  which  would 
also  make  him  independent. 

She  had  done  all  that  he  would  permit  her  to  do  for  him, 


216  A     NOBLE     LORD. 

and  he  knew  that  she  would  do  much  more,  if  he  would  only 
let  her — that  she  would  do  quite  as  much  for  him  as  for 
one  of  her  own  numerous  brothers. 

While  thinking  of  all  these  things,  he  came  upon  a  large 
old  church,  standing  hack  from  the  street  in  its  shaded 
church-yard.  He  saw  that  the  door  was  ajar.  He  opened 
the  iron  gate  and  walked  in  from  the  roar  of  the  street  to 
the  quietness  of  the  church-yard. 

He  entered  the  old  church.  It  was  at  this  time  quite 
empty.  And  the  subdued  light  shining  through  its  stained 
glass  windows  filled  it  with  a  rich,  solemn,  pleasing  gloom. 
Benny  sat  down  in  one  of  the  lower  pews,  bowed  his  head 
upon  its  front,  and  earnestly  thanked  the  Lord  for  the  peace- 
ful life  that  was  opening  before  him,  and  earnestly  prayed 
that  he  might  be  able  to  serve  and  benefit  his  little  adopted 
sister,  and  that  she  might  be  forever  saved  from  the  great 
temptations  and  perils  that  surrounded  and  pervaded  her 
art-life. 

Then  he  arose  comforted  and  strengthened,  and  went 
forth  out  of  the  church. 

And  not  only  on  his  constant  friend  Suzy  did  his  thoughts 
run,  but  on  that  mystery  of  his  unknown  birth  that  was  be- 
ginning to  possess  a  morbid  and  absorbing  interest  for  him. 

As  he  walked  down  Oxford  street,  he  mentally  summed 
up  his  case,  so  far  as  it  was  known  to  him. 

He  knew,  for  Tony  Brice  on  his  death-bed  had  told  him, 
that  he,  called  Benny  Hurst,  was  not  the  son  of  Madge 
Hurst,  but  that  he  was  the  offspring  of  unknown  parents, 
who  had  found  it  necessary  to  conceal  his  birth,  and  who  had 
effectually  done  so,  by  the  agency  of  a  midwife  and  a  confi- 
dential medical  attendant,  who  had  palmed  him  off  on  his 
delirious  foster-mother,  in  place  of  her  own  dead  child  which 
was  taken  away  and  buried;  that  this  much  had  been  con- 
fessed by  the  midwife,  who  had  died  before  she  could  divulge 
the  name  of  the  confidential  medical  attendant;  that  the 


THE     TWO.  217 

name  of  the  latter  had  never  been  ascertained ;  that  the  only 
mementos  of  his  abandoned  infancy  were  the  little  sack  and 
the  little  sock,  both  embroidered  with  a  wreath  of  eglan- 
tines, and  with  a  family  crest. 

He  knew,  for  he  had  looked  into  a  book  of  heraldry  on 
the  table  of  a  street  vender  of  old  books — he  knew  that  that 
crest  was  the  crest  of  the  ancient  and  noble  Scottish  house 
of  Seton  Linlithgow. 

He  knew,  for  Suzy  had  told  him,  that  the  Duke  of 
Cheviot  had  married  the  sole  heiress  and  last  representative 
of  that  house — Eglantine  Seton,  Baroness  Linlithgow  in 
her  own  right. 

He  knew,  for  his  own  eyes  assured  him,  that  there  was 
the  strongest  possible  resemblance  between  himself,  poor 
Benjamin  Hurst,  the  abandoned  son  of  somebody,  and  the 
noble  young  Earl  of  Wellroso,  son  of  Eglantine,  Duchess 
of  Cheviot  and  Baroness  of  Linlithgow. 

He  knew,  from  his  own  personal  experience,  that  the 
beautiful  Duchess  had  more  than  once  encountered  him  in 
his  wretched  childhood,  and  had  shown  strange  emotion  at 
the  sight  of  him. 

He  remembered  that  wintry  evening  at  Brighton,  when 
he  had  stood  on  the  sidewalk  in  front  of  her  house  on 
Brunswick  Terrace,  and  by  the  whim  of  the  little  Lady 
Jessie,  he  had  been  brought  in  by  a  footman,  and  after  hav-' 
ing  been  washed  and  brushed  and  polished  up  a  little,  and 
made  decent,  had  been  taken  to  a  parlor  where  the  children 
were  holding  a  Twelfth-night  festival ;  how  the  children 
had  made  much  of  him,  and  little  Lady  Jessie  had  given 
him  a  slice  of  the  Twelfth-day  cake  ;  and  the  ring  having 
been  found  in  that  slice,  he  was  jestingly  made  the  King  of 
the  festival,  and  told  to  crown  his  Queen  ;  how  he  had  gone 
trembling  up  to  the  beautiful  Duchess,  and  laid  the  crown 
at  her  feet,  and  tried  to  speak  the  words  set  down  for  him, 
but  she  had  looked  on  him  with  such  compassionate,  tearful, 


218  A      N  O  B  I,  E      LOUT). 

tender  eyes,  that  he  had  lost  all  his  self-control,  and  burst 
into  a  storm  of  passionate  tears  and  sobs,  for  which  he 
could  not  account ;  and  how  the  Duke  had  ordered  him  to 
be  kindly  sent  away. 

He  remembered,  later  on,  lying  ill  of  a  fever  in  the  hos- 
pital, and  in  a  dreamy,  half-conscious  state,  seeing  the  lovelj' 
face  of  the  Duchess  bending  over  him,  hearing  the  tender 
tones  of  her  voice  murmuring  words  of  love  and  pity,  feel- 
the  light,  warm  rain  of  tears  upon  his  face,  and  trying  to 
wake  up  and  speak  his  thanks,  and  failing  to  do  so. 

He  had  thought  this  all  a  dream  until  he  had  been 
assured  by  Rachel  Wood  that  it  was  a  reality. 

He  had  not  seen  the  beautiful  Duchess  since  that  time, 
now  fifteen  years  past. 

Why  was  there  such  a  perfect  likeness  between  his  poor 
self  and  her  noble  son  ? 

Why  had  the  crest  of  Seton-Linlithgow  been  embroider- 
ed on  his  own  infant  sack  and  sock,  and  the  eglantines 
also  ? 

Why  did  the  beautiful  Duchess  weep  over  him,  as  he  lay 
in  the  hospital  bed  ? 

Was  he  perhaps  her  poor  little  disowned  brother?  or 
rather  Aa//"-brother,  he  meant.  And  did  she  know  it,  or 
suspect  it  ? 

If  so,  why  should  she  have  left  him  in  the  hospital  then, 
and  never  inquired  for  him  again  ? 

Ah  !  he  remembered  the  reason  now. 

Of  course  he  was  too  ill  to  be  removed  at  that  time.  And 
the  very  next  day  he  had  been  taken  to  the  dead-house  for 
dead,  and  his  death  had  been  reported  to  the  Duchess,  as 
well  as  to  others. 

And  how  should  she  know,  more  than  others,  that  he  had 
recovered  from  the  deathly  trance  that  had  been  taken  for 
death  ? 

And  besides,  as  Rachel  Wood  had  told  him,  she  had  gone 
abroad  almost  immediately  after  his  reported  death. 


THE      SEARCH      FOR      A      PEDIGREE.          219 

And  he  himself  had  been  transported  within  a  year  after- 
ward. 

And  fifteen  years  had  passed,  and  no  doubt  she  had  quite 
given  him  up  for  dead,  and  utterly  forgotten  him. 

But  the  whole  subject  so  troubled  his  soul  that  he  resolved 
to  go  into  a  bookstore  and  examine  the  Peerage,  to  find  out 
all  he  could  about  the  ancient  and  noble  Scottish  House  of 
Seton-Linlithgow. 

Then  he  looked  down  upon  his  shabby  clothes,  and  doubt- 
ed whether  any  bookseller  would  let  him  examine  his  books. 

So  he  decided  to  go  to  an  outfitter's  first. 

He  kept  on  his  way  until  he  reached  the  Strand  and 
found  a  shop  that  suited  his  purposes.  He  went  in  and 
selected  the  articles  he  wanted,  and  took  out  the  sealed  en- 
velope that  had  been  placed  in  his  hand  by  Suzy.  He 
opened  it,  and  found  that  it  contained  four  five  pound  notes. 
He  took  one  to  pay  for  the  complete  suit  that  he  purchased, 
and  then  taking  his  large  parcel  under  his  arm,  he  went 
with  it  to  an  humble  tavern  on  one  of  the  side  streets,  and 
asked  for  a  bed-room,  where  he  proceeded  to  change  his 
dress. 

His  next  visit  was  to  a  barber's  shop,  where  he  got  his 
hair  and  whiskers  trimmed  and  dressed. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

THE  OUTCAST  IN  SEARCH  OF  HIS  PEDIGREE. 

Howe'er  it  be,  it  seems  to  me, 

'Tis  only  noble  to  be  good. 
Kind  hearts  are  more  than  coronets, 

And  simple  faith  than  Norman  blood. — TENNTSOH. 

AND  now,  being  neatly  clothed  in  a  suit  of  clerical  black, 
with  spotless  linen  and  fresh  gloves,  he  looked  more  than 


220  A     NOBLE      LORD. 

ever  like  a  gentleman,  more  than  ever  like  his  unknown 
brother. 

He  walked  on  until  he  reached  a  bookstore. 

He  went  in  and  requested  a  young  shopman  to  allow  him 
to  look  at  "  Burke's  Peerage"  for  the  year. 

"  Certainly,  my  lord,"  answered  the  young  man  very 
deferentially,  handing  down  the  great  red  volume  in  ques- 
tion. "  Will  your  lordship  please  to  take  a  seat  ?" 

"  You  mistake,"  said  Benny  very  quietly. 

"  1  beg  your  lordship's  pardon.  I'm  sure  I  understood 
your  lordship  to  ask  for  'Burke's  Peerage,'"  the  shopman 
apologized. 

"  So  I  did.  You  have  not  mistaken  the  book ;  but  you 
have  mistaken  me  for  some  one  else,"  said  Benny,  with  a 
smile. 

"  Oh  !  Pm  sure  I  hope  you'll  excuse  me.  I  did  take  you 
for  Lord  Wellrose,  who  comes  in  here  quite  often."  the 
young  man  explained,  losing  much  of  his  deferential  de- 
portment. 

"  Oh,  there  is  no  offence  at  all,"  Benny  answered,  with 
a  little  laugh,  as  he  sat  down,  laid  the  great  book  on  his 
knees,  and  began  to  turn  over  the  leaves  in  search  of  the 
Barony  of  Linlithgow.  He  found  it. 

T.INLITHGOW. 

LIXLITHGOW,  BAKONESS  (Eglantine  Douglas)  of  Seton-Linlith- 
gow,  Co.  Inverness,  North  Britain,  born  June  15th,  IS — ;  succeeded 
her  father  December  20th,  18—;  married,  July  25th,  18—,  to  Wil- 
liam Douglas,  tenth  and  present  Duke  of  Cheviot,  (see  ante  CHE- 
VIOT, DUKE.)  By  this  union  her  grace  has  issue — . 

Here  followed  a  list  of  the  children  of  that  distinguished 
marriage,  commencing  with  the  eldest  and  only  sou  and 
heir. 

"  William- Alexander-Cromartie-Seton  Douglas,  Earl  of 
Wellrose,  born  October  30th,  18 — ,"  and  going  on  with 
the  names  of  the  daughters  in  due  order. 


THE      SEARCH      FOR      A      PEDIGREE.         221 

Then  followed  the  history  of  the  long  lineage,  beginning 
nine  hundred  years  back,  when  the  founder  of  the  familj', 
one  Madoch  Setou,  for  some  important  service  rendered  to 
majesty,  was  rewarded  with  the  Lordship  of  Linlithgow  by 
Malcolm  First,  King  of  Scotland. 

Benny  ran  his  eye  down  the  lines,  where  the  family  his- 
tory of  nine  centuries  was  compressed  into  two  double- 
columned  octavo  pages,  until  he  came  to — 

John-Alexander-Madock  Seton,  eighteenth  Baron,  who  was  born 
March  7th,  17 — ;  succeeded  his  father  May  14th,  18 — ;  married, 
August  25th,  18 — ,  the  Lady  Anne  Moray,  daughter  of  the  Earl 
of  Ornoch,  and  had  issue — 

Eglantine,  present  Baroness. 

Benny  closed  the  book,  and  holding  it  upon  his  knees, 
fell  into  deep  thought. 

"  There  were  no  other  children  of  the  late  Baron,  so  I 
cannot  be  her  unowned  nephew.  The  late  Baron  died 
December  20th,  18 — .  That  must  have  been  more  than 
five  years  before  I  was  born,  so  I  cannot  be  her  unowned 
younger  brother.  Yet  I  must  be  something  to  the  beauti- 
ful Duchess ;  all  circumstances  go  to  prove  that.  I  was 
born  in  her  own  native  neighborhood,  in  Scotland;  I  was 
an  unowned  child,  outcast  from  my  birth ;  I  bear  a  perfect 
likeness  to  the  Earl,  her  sou ;  she  once  or  twice  manifested 
the  deepest  and  tenderest  interest  in  me  ;  and  the  only 
mementos  I  have  of  nay  infancy  are  the  little  garments 
marked  with  her  family  crest.  Let  me  be  sure  of  that," 
he  said  to  himself,  as  he  once  more  opened  the  big  red  book, 
and  turned  to  the  article  LINLITIIGOW,  and  examined  the 
arms  and  crest  of  the  family. 

Yes,  the  crest  engraved  and  described  there  was  the  same 
that  was  embroidered  upon  the  little  sack  and  sock — a  lark 
with  expanded  wings,  rising  from  a  baron's  coronet,  and 
holding  in  its  beak  a  spray  of  ripe  eglantine  rose  berries. 


222  A     NOBLE      LORD. 

He  closed  the  book  with  a  sigh,  and  fell  into  still  deeper 
thought. 

But  the  article  "  LINLITHGOW  "  had  referred  the  reader 
for  further  information  to  the  article,  "CHEVIOT,  DUKE 
OF,"  ante. 

So  again  he  opened  the  book  and  turned  back  the  leaves 
until  he  found 

CHEVIOT. 

CHEVIOT,  DUKE  OF,  William-Angus  Douglas,  Earl  of  Wellrose, 
Viscount  Angus,  Baron  Douglas  of  Douglas,  and  a  baronet,  Coun- 
ty of  Inverness  in  North  Britain,  born  April  3d,  18 — ;  succeeded  bis 
uncle  as  tenth  duke  August  7th,  18 — ;  married,  July  25th,  18 — , 
Eglantine  Seton,  Baroness  Liulithgow,  and  has — 

Here  followed  a  list  of  the  children  similar  to  that  given 
under  the  head  of  Linlithgow ;  and  a  pedigree  even  more 
ancient,  noble  and  renowned  than  that  of  Seton-Linlithgow  ; 
and  the  arms  and  quarterings  of  the  family  ;  and  last  of  all 
a  list  of  the  numerous  seats.  Among  them  the  inquirer 
particularly  noticed  Seton  Castle,  Seton,  County  of  Argyle. 

He  closed  the  book  and  took  it  to  the  counter,  saying : 

"  I  will  buy  this  book,  if  you  will  put  it  up  for  me." 

"Certainly,  sir,"  said  the  shopman,  still  a  little  sulkily, 
in  remembrance  of  having  mistaken  "  this  plain  gentleman  " 
for  the  noble  Earl  of  Welb^ose. 

"  In  the  meantime,  will  you  let  me  look  at  a  map  of  Scot- 
land ?  "  inquired  Benny. 

The  shopman  handed  down  the  required  article,  and  laid 
it  before  the  inquirer. 

Benny  opened  it  on  the  counter  and  began  to  examine  it 
closely. 

On  the  west  coast  of  Argyleshire  he  found  the  little  port 
of  Kilford,  and  a  few  miles  inland  the  village  of  Seton, 
above  which  Seton  Castle  was  known  to  stand. 

So  close  together  stood  the  little  fishing  hamlet  to  which 
he  had  been  taken  to  be  concealed,  and  the  ancieilt  feudal 


THE      SEARCH      FOR      A      PEDIGREE.         223 

hold  of  the  renowned  house  whose  crest  was  wrought  upon 
his  infant  garments  ! 

"I  will  take  this  map  also,  if  you  please,"  said  Benny, 
handing  it  back  to  the  salesman,  who  put  it  into  the  parcel 
with  the  other  large  volume,  and  inquired  : 

"  Where  will  you  have  these  sent,  sir?  " 

Benny  gave  the  address  of  the  little  hotel  where  he  had 
engaged  a  room. 

"  What  name,  sir  ?  " 

"  Never  miud  the  name ;  the  number  of  the  room  will  do 
—No.  7." 

"Very  well,  sir;  the  books  shall  be  sent  immediately." 

Benny  took  his  hat  to  leave  the  shop,  but  recoiled  toward 
the  back  of  it,  where  he  leaned  on  the  counter  pale  and 
faint,  for  there,  before  the  door,  stood  the  equipage  of  the 
Duchess  of  Cheviot ! 

A  footman  in  livery  of  purple  and  gold  was  in  the  act  of 
letting  down  the  steps. 

At  the  same  time  the  beautiful  Duchess  quietly,  but 
richly  dressed,  descended  from  the  carriage  and  entered  the 
shop. 

"Why,  Wellrose,  my  son,  you  here?"  she  exclaimed,  in 
a  low,  quick  voice.  Then,  as  something  in  the  pale  face  of 
the  young  man  seemed  to  correct  her  mistake,  she  dropped 
her  tender  eyes,  and  said  very  gently,  "  I  beg  your  pardon, 
sir;  I  took  you  for — some  one  else,"  and  passed  on  to  the 
counter. 

He  caught  his  breath  and  stood  for  a  moment,  feeling 
deadly  cold,  with  his  heart  beating  like  a  hammer,  and  then, 
as  a  man  walking  in  darkness,  he  put  out  his  arm  and 
groped  his  way  from  the  shop. 

The  Duchess  looked  wistfully  after  him  for  a  moment,  as 
some  strange  emotion,  half  of  pity,  half  of  pain,  disturbed 
her  bosom.  Then  turning  to  the  shopman,  she  inquired : 

"  Who  is  that  young  gentleman  ?  " 


224  A     NOBLE     LORD. 

"  Beg  pardon,  your  Grace,  but  I  really  do  not  know.  I 
never  saw  him  before,"  answered  the  shopman,  with  a  low 
bow. 

"  He  looks  ill,"  said  the  Duchess  in  a  compassionate  tone, 
gazing  after  him  as  he  passed  out  of  sight. 

u  There  is  something  odd  about  him,  your  Grace.  lie 
has  been  for  two  hours  poring  over  the  '  Peerage,'  and  over 
the  map  of  Scotland,  and  ended  in  buying  both  and  order- 
ing them  to  be  sent  to — " 

"  Thanks.  That  will  do,"  said  the  Duchess  gently, 
arresting  the  garrulity  of  the  shopman. 

She  made  her  purchases,  children's  books,  each  of  which 
she  carefully  examined  before  selecting. 

She  directed  them  to  be  sent  to  her  school,  and  then  she 
re-entered  her  carriage  and  gave  the  order : 

"  Home." 

Meanwhile  Benny  returned  to  his  room  at  the  Black  Lion, 
where  he  sat  down  and  took  himself  to  task  for  the  most 
unreasonable  emotion  he  had  betrayed  at  the  sight  of  the 
beautiful  Duchess. 

After  some  slight  refreshment,  he  went  out  again. 

He  spent  the  afternoon  in  collecting  his  scanty  effects, 
which  had  been  left  in  the  care  of  the  old  porteress  of  the 
lodging-house  in  Junk  Lane,  and  in  purchasing  the  articles 
necessary  for  a  respectable  outfit. 

All  these  things  were  directed  to  be  sent  to  his  room  in 
the  Black  Lion,  where,  later  in  the  afternoon,  he  returned 
to  pack  them  into  the  large  new  trunk  he  had  purchased. 

In  the  evening  he  went  to  Covent  Garden  Theatre,  to 
Lear  "  Mademoiselle  Arielle  "  sing. 

He  had  not  had  the  opportunity  of  doing  so  before,  for  he 
Lad  had  neither'proper  clothing  to  wear,  nor  money  to  buy 
Lis  ticket. 

He  might  now  have  gone  into  the  boxes ;  but  in  the  very 
shyness  and  sensitiveness  of  his  nature,  he  preferred  to  lose 
himself  in  the  dense  crowd  of  the  parquette. 


THE      SEARCH      FOR      A      PEDIGREE.          225 

He  found  a  seat  there  and  waited  impatiently  for  the  rise 
of  the  curtain. 

And  when  at  length  it  did  rise,  he  was  indeed  disap- 
pointed. 

Mademoiselle  Arielle  was  not  on  the  stage,  arid  though 
the  chorus  had  been  a  choir  of  angels,  he  could  take  no 
pleasure  in  their  singing. 

The  scene  changed,  and  a  solo  and  a  duet,  and  then 
another  chorus,  were  sung. 

And  then  the  drop-scene  fell  upon  a  grand  tableau,  but 
Arielle  had  not  appeared. 

The  young  man  was  so  surprised,  disappointed  and  anx- 
ious, that  he  could  not  resist  the  desire  to  question  his  next 
neighbor. 

"What  has  happened?  Will  Mademoiselle  Arielle  dis- 
appoint the  audience  to-night?  " 

"  Oh,  no ;  but  she  does  not  come  on  until  the  second  act." 

«  Oh  ! " 

"  Hush  !  The  Royal  party  are  coming  in,"  whispered 
his  neighbor. 

At  the  same  moment  there  was  a  half-suppressed  excite- 
ment sweeping  through  the  crowded  audience,  like  a  breeze 
through  the  leaves  of  a  forest. 

The  band  struck  up — 

"  God  save  the  Queen  !  " 

The  audience  arose  en  masse. 

Benjamin  Hurst  stood  up,  and  looking  toward  the  Royal 
box,  saw  the  Royal  family  taking  their  seats. 

And  in  close  attendance  upon  her  Majesty  stood  the  beau- 
tiful Duchess. 

Benjamin  looked  a£  neither  queen  nor  princesses  after 
that.  He  looked  at  only  her.  And  he  asked  himself: 

"  Why  is  it  that  my  heart  is  so  troubled  at  the  sight  of 
that  lovely  lady  ?  That  I  am  something  to  her  I  know. 
But  what  of  that  ?  I  am  not  worthy  so  much  as  to  '  touch 
14 


226  A      NOBLE      LORD. 

the  hem  of  her  garment ! '  I,  whose  infancy  and  childhood 
were  passed  in  sin  and  shame  ;  I,  whose  youth  was  spent  in 
the  penal  colonies ;  I,  who  hold  myself  unworthy  even  to 
enter  my  old  playmate's  house,  except  as  her  hired  servant. 
I  will  never  trouble  the  beautiful  Duchess — no,  even  though 
I  should  discover  myself  to  be — but  that's  impossible — her 
own  lawful  son.'"' 

While  these  sad  thoughts  were  passing  through  the  mind 
of  Benjamin  Hurst,  the  band  finished  playing  the  National 
Anthem  ;  the  audience  sat  down  ;  the  prompter's  bell  rang, 
and  the  curtain  rose,  revealing  the  fair  Arielle  alone  on  the 
stage. 

Her  appearance  was  hailed  by  the  most  enthusiastic  ap- 
plause. And  Benjamin,  forgetting  the  trouble  of  his  soul, 
so  rejoiced  in  her  triumphs  that  his  blue  eyes  fairly  danced 
with  delight. 

She  sang  a  solo,  that  so  enraptured  her  audience  that  it 
was  encored  and  encored. 

As  she  was  retiring  the  third  time  amid  a  storm  of 
applause,  a  gentleman,  sitting  in  the  front  row  of  the  or- 
chestra seats,  arose  and  threw  a  bouquet  of  the  richest  and 
rarest  roses,  in  the  midst  of  which  was  a  diamond,  that,  in 
dropping,  blazed  like  a  falling  star. 

As  this  gentleman  stood  up,  Benny  recognized  him. 

He  was  the  Earl  of  Wellrose. 

Arielle  picked  up  the  bouquet,  and  smiled  and  courtesied 
to  the  giver,  and  then  raised  her  eyes  and  encountered,  afar 
off,  the  intense  blue  orbs  of  Benjamin  Hurst  fixed  earnestly 
upon  her.  She  smiled  on  him  also,  and  with  a  courtesy  for 
the  whole  audience,  glided  off  the  stage. 

She  came  on  again  in  a  duet,  and  then  with  the  chorus. 

And  whether  she  sang  alone,  or  with  one  or  two  or  many, 
or  whether  she  came  on  or  went  off,  she  was  greeted  or  fol- 
lowed with  "  thunders  "  of  applause  and  showers  of  bouquets. 
But  no  other  bouquet  was  so  choice  as  that  one  with  the 
blazing  star,  thrown  by  the  Earl  of  Wellrose. 


THE     SEARCH      FOR     A      PEDIGREE.         227 

When  the  curtain  fell  upon  the  last  magnificent  tableau, 
the  evening  of  triumphs  ended  in,  one  grand  ovation  to  the 
fair  prima  donna. 

And  the  crowded  audience  slowly  worked  itself  out  of  the 
theatre. 

In  a  strange  delirium,  half  of  delight,  half  of  despair, 
Benjamin  Hurst  pushed  out  into  the  street,  and  posted  him- 
self where,  unseen,  he  could  see  Suzy  when  she  came  forth. 

She  came  at  length,  wrapped  in  her  soft  white  opera 
cloak  and  hood,  carrying  in  her  hand  the  rich  bouquet  with 
the  blazing  star  in  the  midst,  and  leaning  on  the  arm  of  the 
Earl  of  Wellrose,  and  smiling  sweetly  to  herself. 

The  Earl  put  her  in  her  carriage,  lingered  to  speak  a  few 
words  in  a  low  tone,  then  bowed  and  withdrew. 

The  footman  put  up  the  steps,  shut  the  door,  gave  the  order 
to  the  coachman,  and  leaped  up  to  his  place  behind  just  as 
the  coach  started. 

Like  a  sleep-walker,  Benjamin  Hurst  sauntered  along  in 
the  direction  of  his  lodgings  at  the  Black  Lion. 

All  that  had  passed  that  evening  seemed  to  him  like  the 
phantasmagoria  of  a  midnight  dream.  The  magnificent 
scene,  the  splendid  audience,  the  beautiful  Duchess  in  the 
Royal  box,  the  divine  songstress  on  the  stage,  the  dazzling 
lights,  the  glowing  colors,  the  entrancing  music,  the  tran- 
scendent procession  of  scenery  and  incident  in  the  opera,  the 
supernal  tableau  and  the  final  grand  ovation,  seemed  rather 
to  belong  to  the  visionary  than  the  real  world. 

He  reached  his  lodgings  and  went  to  bed,  and  passed  from 
the  waking  dream  to  the  sleeping  one.  And  in  the  last,  as 
in  the  first,  the  forms  of  the  beautiful  Duchess  and  the  fair 
prima  donna  passed  before  him. 

He  awoke  earljr,  and  recollected,  in  his  first  conscious  mo- 
ment, that  that  morning  he  was  to  enter  the  service  of  the 
young  prima  donna. 

He  arose  and  made  his  simple  toilet,  and  ordered  his 
frugal  breakfast. 


228 


A     NOBLE     LORD. 


And  when  he  had  eaten  it,  and  had  called  for  his  bill  and 
paid  it,  he  sent  for  a  cab  and  had  his  large  trunk  strapped 
on  behind,  and  his  small  effects  packed  inside,  and  then  he 
got  into  it  himself  and  directed  the  driver  to  take  him  to 
number  — ,  Park  Lane,  and  to  stop  at  the  servants'  door. 

In  good  time  he  reached  the  miniature  palace,  drew  up  at 
the  servants'  entrance  and  alighted. 

He  directed  the  driver  to  bring  in  his  effects,  and  then 
paid  and  dismissed  him. 

He  went  into  the  servants'  hall,  where,  before  he  had  time 
to  announce  himself,  the  footman,  Smith,  accosted  him  with  : 

"  If  you  be  the  new  house  steward  and  butler,  sir,  my 
mistress  left  word  as  you  was  to  come  up  to  her  immediate." 

"Very  well.     I  am  quite  ready  to  go,"  replied  Benjamin. 

"  Then  come  with  me,  if  you  please,"  said  the  footman, 
leading  the  way. 

The  man  took  Benjamin  up  stairs,  and  to  the  door  of  the 
Rose  Parlor.  He  opened  the  door,  announced : 

"  The  new  house  steward  and  butler,  if  you  please,  Miss," 
and  immediately  retired. 

Benjamin  found  himself  alone  with  Suzy. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

MISTRESS     AND     MAN. 

"  GOOD-MORNING,  Benjamin.  I  am  glad  to  see  you  here 
to-day.  I  saw  you  at  the  Opera  last  night,  and  I  was  glad 
to  see  you  there  too,"  said  Suzy,  holding  out  her  hand. 

Benny  took  it  and  bowed  over  it,  but  did  not  speak. 
Emotion  that  he  could  neither  understand  nor  conquer,  kept 
him  silent. 

"Please  sit  down,  Benjamin,"  she  said,  pointing  to  a 
chair  beside  her. 


MISTRESS      AND     MAN.  229 

He  shook  his  head  slightly,  bowed  and  remained 
standing1. 

"  Oh,  well,  if  you  will  not  sit,  you  must  stand,  I  do  suppose. 
'A  willfu'  mou  maun  ha'e  his  way,'  as  the  Scotch  say. 
Benjamin,  you  enter  upon  your  duties  to-day.  And  I  need 
scarcely  tell  you  that  I  will  make  them  as  light  and  as 
pleasant  as  possible.  The  housekeeper,  Mrs.  Brown,  has 
prepared  a  room  for  you — a  very  pleasant  room  on  the  third 
floor  back,  looking  upon  the  little  inclosed  shrubbery.  It 
has  been  fitted  up  for  you  very  nicely.  I  have  seen  it  my- 
self, and  I  like  it.  That  will  be  your  own  private  apart- 
ment, Benjamin,  where  you  can  retire  when  you  wish  to  get 
away  from  everybody." 

She  paused  and  looked  at  him.  But  again  he  only  bowed 
in  silence.  And  so  she  continued : 

"  Besides  that,  Benjamin,  there  is  a  little  office  in  the 
front  basement  where  JTOU  can  sit  to  transact  the  business 
of  the  house.  It  is  fitted  up  with  book-shelves  and  cup- 
boards, and  a  writing-desk  and  table  and  comfortable  chairs. 
I  think  you  will  like  it,  Benjamin,  I  did,  I'm  sure,"  she 
added. 

And  then  again  she  paused.  But  again  he  only  bowed 
and  remained  silent. 

"You  do  not  speak  to  me,  Benjamin.  You  have  not 
spoken  to  me  since  you  came  into  the  room.  Why  is  it  ?  " 
"Oh  Susan,  Susan,"  he  said,  in  a  choking  voice,  "it  is, 
perhaps,  that  my  consciousness  is  so  darkened  and  burdened 
with  the  memory  of  my  past  life.  When  I  remember  what 
my  life  has  been — when  I  recall  my  stained  and  defiled 
infancy  and  childhood,  my  disgraced  and  dishonored  youth, 
my  cursed  and  ruined  manhood — I  feel  that  I  ought  not  to 
be  here." 

Susan  covered  her  face  with  her  hands  and  wept.  He 
continued : 

"  I  feel   that  I   am  unworthy  to  be  here.     I  feel,  Suzy, 


280  A      NOBLE      LORD. 

that  your  very  meanest  lackey,  if  he  knew  my  past,  would 
not  obey  my  orders,  nay,  that  he  would  not  even  tolerate  my 
presence  in  the  house,  but  would  give  you  warning." 

Susan  wept  bitterly.     He  went  on  : 

"  That,  perhaps,  was  the  reason,  Susan,  why  at  first  I  felt 
unable  to  reply  to  you,"  he  concluded,  and  then  he  stood 
meekly  before  her. 

Susan  lifted  up  her  head  and  dashed  the  tears  from  her 
eyes,  as  she  answered: 

"No  one  shall  ever  know  your  unfortunate  past  life, 
Benny.  It  is  not  given  to  the  ignorant  and  narrow-minded 
to  know  some  things  of  which  they  are  incapable  of  forming 
just  judgments.  You  are  not  responsible  for  your  past, 
Benjamin.  You  were  and  are  naturally  honest,  true,  just 
and  generous,  affectionate,  self-devoted,  magnanimous !  I 
who  have  known  you  as  long  as  I  have  known  myself,  am 
sure  of  this.  The  sins  of  your  childhood,  Benjamin,  were 
habits  taught  you  as  duties.  They  were  no  more  a  part  of 
yourself  than  were  the  little  ragged  jacket  and  trousers  that 
I  remember  so  well.  In  the  greater  misfortunes  of  your 
youth,  j'ou  were  without  a  shadow  of  blame;  you  were  then, 
indeed,  a  blameless  victim  who  suffered  a  criminal's  punish- 
ment. But  your  manhood,  Benny,  if  you  will  only  think  so, 
need  not  be  blighted  by  these  antecedents.  They  were  mis- 
fortunes that  still  darken  your  inner  life  because  you  are  so 
sensitive;  but  they  should  not  be  permitted  to  affect  your 
outer  life  at  all.  Oh,  dear  boy,  accept  what  good  I  can  do 
you,  and  spend  your  leisure  time  in  self-improvement,  that 
you  ma}'  be  prepared  for  something  better,"  she  added,  as 
she  held  out  her  hand  to  him. 

And  never  knight  touched  the  hand  of  a  queen  with  more 
reverence  than  Benjamin  Hurst  showed,  when  he  bowed 
over  the  hand  of  Susan  and  pressed  it  to  his  lips. 

Then  she  rang  the  bell.  And  to  the  page  who  answered 
it,  she  gave  a  direction  to  send  her  companion  and  house- 
keeper to  the  room. 


MISTRESS      AND      MAN.  231 

The  latter  soon  made  her  appearance. 

"  Mrs.  Brown,"  she  said,  "  this  is  the  new  house  steward 
and  butler  I  told  you  about.  You  will  please  show  him  his 
office,  and  take  the  keys  of  the  wine  cellar  and  tire  house- 
hold account-books  to  him  there.  You  will  also  send  all  the 
tradespeople's  bills  to  him  for  settlement.  He  will  pay  the 
servants  their  wages,  and  be  in  authority  over  them.  You 
will  have  his  meals  served  to  him  in  his  office." 

"  Very  well,  miss,"  answered  the  housekeeper. 

"  And  now,  Mr.  Hurst,  here  are  certain  instructions  for 
your  own  guidance,"  said  Susan,  turning  to  the  young  man 
and  placing  in  his  hand  a  letter. 

Benjamin  took  it  and  bowed,  and  left  the  room  with  the 
housekeeper. 

"I  will  take  you  up  stairs  first  and  show  you  your  bed- 
room," said  Mrs.  Brown,  leading  the  way. 

She  took  him  to  the  third  floor  back,  and  opened  the  door 
of  a  spacious  chamber,  neatly  but  plainly  furnished  with 
every  possible  comfort,  and  having  two  lofty  windows  that 
looked  down  upon  a  back  yard,  where  green  trees,  sweet 
shrubs  and  climbing  vines  were  very  pleasant  and  refreshing 
to  the  sight. 

Benjamin  looked  around  it  with  evident  satisfaction. 

"  You  will  know  where  to  find  this  again.  And  now  I 
will  show  you  the  house  steward's  office,"  said  the  matron. 

And  she  led  the  way  down  four  flights  of  stairs  to  the 
basement  story,  where  she  showed  him  a  front  room  of  good 
size  furnished  as  Susan  had  described. 

"And  now,  if  there's  anything  else  }'ou  need,  I  have 
orders  to  supply  it,"  she  said. 

"  Thanks.  Nothing  more  whatever  at  present,"  said  the 
young  man. 

And  the  housekeeper  left  him,  to  return  in  a  few 
moments,  bringing  with  her  the  household  account-books. 

"  Up  to  this  time  they  have  been  under  my  charge. 
And  I  think  you  will  find  them  correct,"  said  Mrs.  Brown. 


232  A     NOBLE      LORD. 

"  I  have  no  doubt  of  it,"  answered  the  young  man,  with 
a  smile,  as  he  received  them  from  her. 

And  when  the  matron  had  left  the  room  he  proceeded  to 
open  the  books,  to  make  himself  familiar  with  their  con- 
tents. 

His  front  window  commanded  the  sidewalk  before  the 
house,  and  his  desk  was  immediately  below  the  window. 
He  sat  poring  over  the  account-books  until  he  heard  the 
sound  of  carriage  wheels,  and  looking  up,  saw  Susan's 
brougham  draw  up  before  the  door. 

He  watched  until  he  saw  her  come  down  and  enter  the 
carriage  and  drive  off. 

He  knew  that  she  had  gone  to  rehearsal.  And  then 
he  applied  himself  again  to  the  revision  of  his  account- 
books. 

It  was  only  to  become  familiar  with  an  unfamiliar  subject 
that  he  now  studied. 

He  saw  no  more  of  Suzy  that  day. 

He  had  chosen  his  own  lot,  chosen  it  in  his  self-humilia- 
tion, at  the  memory  of  his  poor,  degraded  childhood  and 
youth.  And  of  course  he  must  abide  by  it. 

He  might  have  been  her  agent,  in  place  of  her  very  in- 
efficient brother  Bill. 

And  brother  Bill  would  no  doubt  have  been  well  pleased 
to  be  relieved  from  the  duties  of  his  office,  while  still  enjoy- 
ing its  privileges,  which  consisted  mainly  in  the  freedom  of 
his  sister's  house  and  table  and  pocket  and  fame. 

But  he,  Benjamin,  was,  as  we  have  said  before,  overshad- 
owed and  overwhelmed  by  the  memory  of  his  sinful  and 
shameful,  though  irresponsible  childhood.  How  little  he 
was  blameworthy,  all  our  readers  know.  But  in  his  morbid 
remorse  and  humiliation,  he  felt  that  he  would  be  less  un- 
happy in  an  humble  position  than  in  any  other. 

Did  he  love  Suzy  then  ? 

As  a  sister,  yes;  he  loved  her  as  never  brother  loved  sister 


MISTRESS      AND      II  A  N.  233 

before.     But  as  a  lover  who  longed  to  become  a  husband  ? 
No,  not  yet.     His  love  was  disinterested. 

Did  Suzy  love  him  ?  As  a  brother,  yes  ;  she  loved  him 
as  sister  had  never  loved  brother  before.  But  as  a  lover, 
and  a  possible  husband  ?  No,  indeed  ! 

She  was  beginning  to  love  the  Earl  of  Wellrose  in  that 
light. 

Drawn  to  Earl  Wellrose,  first  of  all,  by  something  in 
his  face  that  at  first  sight  had  reminded  her  of  her  best 
beloved  early  friend  and  playmate,  she  had  received  him 
•with  pleasure. 

Later  on,  charmed  by  the  fascination  of  his  manner  and 
the  profundity  and  brilliancy  of  his  mind,  she  had  learned 
first  to  wonder  at  him,  then  to  admire  him,  and  DOW — to 
love  him. 

Benjamin  Hurst  knew  nothing  of  all  this,  as  he  sat 
patiently  poring  over  his  account-books.  He  knew  that 
his  beloved  foster-sister  was  the  worshipped  of  all  London  ; 
but  he  suspected  not  that  she  favored  one  more  than  an- 
other of  her  worshippers. 

The  moment  of  his  illumination  was,  however,  at  hand. 

That  very  evening,  after  the  opera,  "  Mademoiselle 
Arielle  "  was  to  give  a  "  little  supper." 

Arielle's  little  suppers  were  very  elegant,  recherche  and 
refined  affairs.  Usually  there  were  but  four  present,  seldom 
more  than  six,  never  more  than  eight. 

On  this  occasion,  there  were  to  be  but  six  :  the  Earl  of 
Wellrose  ;  Mademoiselle  Zephyrine,  the  secunda  donna  of 
the  opera ;  the  Honorable  Stuart  Fitzroy,  the  j'ounger  son 
of  the  Viscount  St.  Paul ;  Arielle,  the  hostess ;  and  Mr. 
William  Juniper,  her  brother,  and  La  Pettite  Fee. 

The  supper  was  to  be  served  at  half-past  eleven  r.  M.  It 
might  have  been  a  breakfast  if  it  had  been  ordered  to  be 
served  half  an  hour  later. 

And  Benjamin  Hurst,  in  his  capacity  of  butler,  was  to 


234  A      NOBLE      LORD. 

stand  behind  the  hostess'  chair,  and  according  to  particular 
arrangement,  to  wait  only  on  her. 

The  matron  who  stood  in  the  double  character  of  com- 
panion and  housekeeper  to  Mademoiselle  Arielle  —  our 
Susan  Juniper — informed  Benjamin  Hurst  of  what  was 
afoot,  and  gave  him  a  hint  of  what  would  be  expected  of 
himself. 

Therefore,  as  the  hour  for  tfre  supper  approached,  Benja- 
min went  into  the  elegant  little  supper  room,  opening  from 
the  drawing  room,  to»see  that  all  things  were  in  order.  Not 
that  he  was  any  sort  of  a  judge  of  supper  tables,  poor  boy ! 
but  his  hard  life  had  made  him  an  excellent  judge  of  men, 
and  he  was  sure  he  should  know,  by  the  very  looks  of  the 
footmen  under  him,  whether  they  had  faithfully  performed 
their  duty  and  all  was  right. 

When  he  saw  the  supper  table,  he  had  no  complaint  to 
make. 

It  seemed  to  him,  with  its  rich  decorations  of  the  most 
fragrant  hot-house  flowers,  its  splendid  service  of  gold, 
silver,  porcelain  and  glass,  and  its  rainbow  lights  from 
stained  gaseliers,  to  be  just  perfect.  He  did  not  need  to 
look  at  the  confident  faces  of  his  underlings  to  see  this. 

"  You  have  done  verj-  well  indeed,  Smith  and  Jones. 
Nothing  could  be  more  elegant,"  he  said,  happy  to  be  able 
to  approve  so  heartily. 

"  Thank  you,  sir ;  glad  you  like  it,  sir,"  said  Smith  and 
Jones,  who  had  come  to  the  wise  conclusion  that  it  might  be 
prudent  for  them  to  stand  well  with  the  new  house  steward 
and  butler,  whether  he  were  simply  an  ordinary  person,  or 
an  unacknowledged  poor  kinsman  of  the  Earl  of  Wellrose, 
whom  their  mistress  certainly  distinguished  above  all  her 
other  adorers. 

Benjamin  Hurst  then  went  to  his  room  to  make  a  toilet 
proper  to  the  occasion — a  fine  black  cloth  dress  suit  with 
white  vest,  white  cravat,  white  gloves  and  white  handker- 
chief— very  like  a  gentleman's. 


MISTRESS      AND      MAN.  235 

At  eleven  o'clock,  "  Mademoiselle  Arielle  "  came  home 
from  the  opera. 

She  hastily  changed  her  carriage  suit  for  an  evening  dress, 
and  then  sent  for  Benjamin  Hurst  to  attend  her.  in  the  Kose 
Parlor. 

He  went  in  and  found  her  seated  on  the  sofa.  She  was 
very  richly  dressed,  in  a  light  hlue  satin,  with  a  point  lace 
overskirt,  and  jewelry  to  match,  of  fine  pearls  and  turquoise, 
and  a  bouquet  of  blue  and  white  violets  on  her  bosom.  Her 
light  golden  hair,  parted  on  the  top  of  her  small  head,  and 
carried  back  from  her  temples  and  caught  up  behind  with  a 
comb  of  silver  filigree  set  with  pearls  and  turquoise,  fell  in  a 
shining  shower  of  curls  upon  her  neck.  She  held  in  her 
hand  a  fan  of  blue  satin  spangled  with  silver,  and  a  larger 
bouquet  of  blue  and  white  violets. 

"I  have  asked  you  to  come  up  here,  Benjamin,"  she  said 
"  that  I  might  say  to  you  this.  You  need  not  attend  at  the 
supper  table  to-night  unless  you  really  wish  to  do  so.  There 
is  no  necessity,  you  know." 

"  But  I  wish  to  do  so,"  said  Benjamin. 

"  Then  it  shall  be  as  you  please ;  but  you  will  wait  on  no 
one  but  me,  remember.  And  a  service  of  affection  it  will 
be,"  she  said. 

And  Benjamin,  understanding  that  the  little  interview 
was  over,  bowed  and  withdrew. 

Half  an  hour  later,  Arielle  and  her  guests  were  assembled 
in  the  elegant  little  drawing-room,  when  the  doors  of  the 
dining-room  were  drawn  back,  as  by  invisible  hands,  and  the 
3'oung  butler  appeared  and  said : 

"  Mademoiselle,  supper  is  served." 


236  A      NOBLE     LORD. 

CHAPTER  XXIV. 

THE    LITTLE     SUPPER. 

Then  all  was  jollity, 
Feasting  and  mirth,  light  bearteduess  aud  laughter.— ROWE. 

ARIELLE  arose  and  took  the  offered  arm  of  the  Earl  of 
Wellrose,  and  led  the  way  to  the  supper  table,  followed  by 
the  Honorable  Stuart  Fitzroy  with  Mademoiselle  Zephyrine, 
and  Mr.  William  Juniper  with  La  Petitie  Fee. 

It  was  a  round  table,  and  as  each  gentleman  handed  his 
companion  to  her  seat  and  sat  down  beside  her,  it  happened 
that  a  lady  and  gentleman  were  placed  alternately  around 
the  board. 

The  supper  was  composed  of  the  most  choice  dainties  of  the 
season,  in  meats,  fruits,  pastry  and  confections,  with  the  rarest 
wines  and  cordials. 

Benjamin  Hurst  waited  behind  the  hostess'  chair,  aud 
changed  her  plates  or  filled  her  glass ;  and  waited  on  no  one 
else,  but  kept  his  eye  on  the  two  footmen  who  were  in  attend- 
ance under  him,  to  see  that  they  did  their  duty.  And  Smith 
and  Jones,  who  thought  that  they  were  now  overlooked  by 
a  man  who,  in  spite  of  his  youth,  understood  the  duties  of 
his  office,  exerted  themselves  to  win  his  approbation. 

Jest  and  laughter,  raillery  and  repartee  ran  around  the 
table,  and  "  all  went  merry  as  a  marriage  bell." 

But  very  early  in  the  feast  the  tastefully  dressed  young 
butler,  standing  behind  Arielle's  chair  and  waiting  exclu- 
sively upon  her,  attracted  general  though  covert  attention. 
His  rare  personal  beauty  and  delicacy,  and  his  perfect  resem- 
blance to  the  Earl  of  Wellrose,  excited  much  admiration  and 
astonishment. 

"  Who  the  deuce  is  that  languid  swell  of  a  new  butler  of 
yours,  Suzy  ?  "  inquired  Mr.  William  Juniper,  who  sat  on 


THE      LITTLE      SUPPER.  237 

the  left  hand  of  his  sister,  while  the  Earl  of  Wellrose  sat 
upon  her  right. 

"  Hush  !  I  will  tell  you  after  supper,"  replied  Arielle,  in 
a  very  low  tone. 

And  the  wine  circulated  and  the  feast  went  on  amid  much 
merriment. 

Benjamin,  watching  from  his  post  behind  the  hostess' 
chair,  observed  much  :  first,  that  Suzy  took  no  wine,  only 
lifting  her  glass  to  her  lips  when  invited  to  do  so  by  a  guest ; 
secondly,  that  the  Earl  of  Wellrose  took  very  little  ;  and 
thirdly,  that  the  Honorable  Stuart  Fitzroy  and  Mr.  William 
Juniper  drank  a  great  deal  too  much. 

He  also  noticed  that  the  attentions  of  the  Earl  of  Well- 
rose  to  Arielle  were  at  once  tender,  delicate  and  respectful ; 
and  she  took  a  shy  delight  in  his  society.  But  that  the 
admiration  of  Mr.  Stuart  Fitzroy  for  her  was  freely  and 
somewhat  coarsely  displayed,  and  that  she  shrunk  from  it  in 
ill-concealed  disgust.  Furthermore,  he  noticed  with  aston- 
ishment that  her  brother  clearly  favored  the  vulgar  advances 
of  Mr.  Fitzroy,  while  he  discouraged  the  delicate  attentions 
of  Lord  Wellrose. 

Not  having  the  key  to  Mr.  William's  strange  conduct,  he 
could  not  understand  it  at  all. 

The  little  supper  came  to  an  end  at  length. 

The  party  adjourned  to  the  drawing-room  for  a  few 
moments  to  exchange  a  little  more  raillery  and  repartee, 
jest  and  laughter,  and  then  to  prepare  to  separate  for  the 
night. 

Tho  two  young  ladies  from  the  opera  went  away  in  their 
brougham.  Then  the  Earl  of  Wellrose  made  his  bow  and 
departed. 

When  all  the  other  guests  had  gone,  Mr.  Stuart  Fitzroy 
lingered. 

Suzy  stood  up  where  she  had  received  the  conges  of  her 
friends,  and,  though  she  was  very  tired,  she  forbore  to  sit 


238  A      NOBLE     LORD. 

down,  lest  the  Honorable  Stuart  should  take  her  act  as  a 
tacit  invitation  and  follow  her  example,  and  then  prolong 
his  stay. 

So  she  remained  standing,  as  if  waiting  for  him  to  bow 
and  go,  until  her  wise  brother,  Mr.  William,  said : 

"  Sit  down,  sit  down,  Mr.  Fitzroy;  it's  early  yet — quite 
early." 

Yes;  indeed  it  was  "quite  early" — only  two  o'clock  in 
the  morning.  So,  to  Arielle's  extreme  annoyance,  Mr. 
Stuart  Fitzroy  sat  down  and  made  himself  at  home. 

Arielle  dropped  heavily  into  her  seat,  without  making  the 
least  effort  to  disguise  her  weariness  and  dissatisfaction. 

That  was  not  the  worst  of  it;  for,  after  a  very  few  min- 
utes of  light  conversation  with  Mr.  Fitzroy,  Mr.  William, 
who  had  been  standing  with  his  back  to  the  fireplace,  now 
deliberately  sauntered  out  of  the  room,  leaving  the  obnox- 
ious suitor  alone  with  his  sister.  Arielle  darted  a  glance  of 
indignation  after  the  deserter,  who  should  have  been  her 
protector,  but  who  had  become  in  a  manner  her  entrapper. 

But  she  had  little  time  to  think.  Mr.  Stuart  Fitzroy, 
somewhat  inflamed  by  the  wine  that  he  had  drank,  ap- 
proached her,  took  her  hand,  and  said : 

"  Mademoiselle,  this  is  an  hour  that  I  have  long  looked 
for,  hoped  for,  sighed  for,  in  vain ! " 

She  withdrew  her  hand  and  rang  the  bell. 

A  footman  answered  it. 

"Smith,"  she  said,  "ask  Mr.  Hurst  to  be  so  good  as  to 
come  here." 

The  footman  disappeared. 

"  Mademoiselle,  for  heavens !  before  we  are  interrupted, 
hear  me  !  I — my  intentions  are  honorable.  I — I — ex- 
plained them  to  your  brother.  In  fact,  I — I  wish  to  lay  my 
heart  and  hand  and  fortune  at  your  feet — hand,  observe, 
Mademoiselle !  I  am  aware  that  many  hearts  and  many 
fortunes  are  ready  to  to  be  laid  at  your  feet,  but  I  lay  also 
my  hand  and  name  !  I — " 


THE     LITTLE      SUPPER.  239 

Here  the  door  opened,  and  the  young  house  steward 
entered  the  room. 

"Mr.  Hurst,  attend  this  gentleman  to  the  door;  put  his 
hat  on  his  head ;  give  him  his  cane,  umbrella  or  gloves,  or 
whatever  else  he  may  have  left  about ;  see  him  safely  to  his 
carriage,  and  tell  his  coachman  to  take  him  home,  and  to 
look  well  after  him  when  he  gets  him  there." 

And  so  saying,  she  swept  out  of  the  room. 

Benny  immediately  approached  the  Honorable  Stuart 
Fitzroy,  and  saying  very  politely  : 

"  Will  you  take  nay  arm,  sir  ?  "  drew  that  gentleman'o 
arm  within  his  own. 

But  the  Honorable  Stuart  was  not  so  far  gone  as  not  to 
know  that  he  was  contemned  and  despised  and  dismissed." 

He  jerked  his  arm  away  from  Benjamin's,  and  exclaiming 
elegantly  : 

"Well,  I'm  dashed,"  pushed  out  of  the  room,  seized  his 
hat,  and  decamped. 

Benjamin  ordered  the  footman  to  turn  off  the  gas,  and. 
then  he  retired  to  his  own  room  in  the  third  floor  back. 

Late  as  was  the  hour,  Suzy  —  as  we  shall  always  call 
Mademoiselle  Arielle  in  the  privacy  of  domestic  life — was 
too  indignant  to  go  immediately  to  her  much-needed  rest, 
but  went  impetuously  to  a  little  smoking  room  off  from 
the  conservatory,  where  she  knew  she  should  find  her  hope- 
ful brother. 

"  Well,  sir ! "  she  exclaimed,  as  she  threw  open  the  door 
and  found  him  enjoying  his  otium  cum  dignitate,  leaning 
back  in  a  resting  chair,  with  a  pipe  in  his  mouth  and  his 
heels  on  the  mantel  shelf — "  Well,  sir :  a  very  honorable 
young  man,  and  a  very  good  brother,  and  a  very  safe  protec- 
tor I  have  found  in  you !  I  think  you  had  better  convey 
your  invaluable  qualities  back  to  Australia.  I  shall  write 
to  our  father  and  tell  him  so." 

"  Hallo !     I  say  now,  Suzy,  hold  on,  you  know.     You're 


240  A     NOBLE      LORD. 

coming  it  a  little  strong,  an't  you?  What  do  you  mean? 
what's  the  row?"  he  inquired  defiantly,  taking  the  pipe 
from  his  mouth. 

"  I  mean,  you  cowardly —  Oh,  I  will  not  speak  to  my 
mother's  son  as  he  deserves!  I  mean,  William,  that  you 
entrapped  me  into  an  interview  with  that  man  Fitzroy, 
whose  every  wt>rd  was  an  insult." 

"Hallo,  I  say!  Is  that  so?  Because,  if  it  is,  he's  got 
to  account  to  me  for  it,  if  he  is  twenty  times  my  Lord  Vis- 
count's sou.  But  he  told  me  he  meant  to  offer  you  mar- 
riage." 

"His  offer  of  marriage,  couched  in  the  terms  that  it  was, 
was  an  affront-." 

"  Oh !  he  did  keep  his  word  to  yon,  then,  and  offer  you 
marriage.  Well,  now,  let  me  tell  you,  Suzy,  that  that's  a  deal 
more  than  that  magnificent  swell  the  Earl  of  Wellrose  ever 
did,  or  ever  will  do,"  said  Mr.  William,  coolly  resuming  his 
pipe. 

"  SILENCE,  SIK  ! "  she  indignantly  exclaimed,  her  bine 
eyes  blazing  on  him.  "Never  let  me  hear  you  speak  one 
word  against  the  noble  Earl  of  Wellrose  again,  lest  I  break 
with  you  in  good  earnest." 

"Now,  Suzy,  don't  be  stagey,  whatever  you  do.  Leave 
heroics  in  Covent  Garden,  and  let  us  have  common-sense  in 
Park  Lane.  I'm  not  saying  anything  against  the  Earl. 
But  I  warn  you  not  to  set  your  heart  on  him.  Because  such 
a  magnificent  swell  as  he  is  will  never  go  to  propose  mar- 
riage to  you.  Besides,  he's  engaged,  as  all  the  world 
knows,  to  the  great  beauty,  Lady  Hinda  Moray,  the  Earl 
of  Ornoch's  daughter.  So  what  hope  can  you  have  ?  " 

Suzy  wheeled  her  chair  around,  turning  her  back  full 
upon  him,  for  an  answer. 

"  Yes,  you  may  treat  me  with  contempt,  Susan,  but  what 
I  tell  you  is  the  truth.  And  I  tell  it  to  you  for  your  good. 
I  warn  you  to  expect  nothing  from  Lord  Wellrose;  and  at 


THE      LITTLE     SUPPER.  241 

the  same  time  I  advise  you  to  accept  the  honorable  proposals 
of  my  friend  Mr.  Fitzroy." 

"A  spendthrift,  wine-bibber,  and  gambler!  How  dare 
you  advise  your  sister  to  take  such  a  man  for  her  husband  ?  " 
demanded  Suzy,  without  turning  around. 

"  Come  now,  Suzy,  you  would  not  let  me  speak  one  word 
against  your  friend  the  Earl,  and  here  you  are  abusing  my 
friend  Fitzroy  the  worst  way !  I  don't  say  that  he  has  not 
his  little  faults  ;  all  men  have  ;  but — " 

"His  little  faults  !  "  echoed  Suzy  scornfully. 

"  Yes,  his  little  faults,  for  that  is  all  /  consider  them  ;  but 
with  all  his  little  faults  he  is  a  gentleman.  And  even  you 
can't  deny  that  he  has  made  you  honorable  proposals.  He 
has  laid  heart,  hand  and  fortune  at  your  feet." 

"His  fortune!"  echoed  Suzy  contemptuously.  "And 
what  is  his  fortune?  A  load  of  debts  that  he  cannot  pay." 

"  Well,  he  offers  you  the  best  he  has  to  give. 

" '  He  gives  you  all,  he  can  no  more, 

Though  poor  the  offering  be ; 
His  heart  and  lute  are  all  the  store 
That  he  can  offer  thee,'  " 

sung  Mr.  William,  in  a  chaffing  manner.  Then,  changing 
his  tone,  he  said  : 

"  It  is  not  quite  so  bad  as  that  either.  He  is  the  son  of 
Lord  St.  Paul.  He  offers  you  an  old  and  an  honorable 
name,  and  a  distinguished  family  connection." 

"  If  he  were  the  eldest  son  and  heir  of  Lord  St.  Paul, 
instead  of  being  the  penniless  younger  son,  I  would  not 
think  of  him  for  an  instant  as  a  husband,"  retorted  Suzy. 

And  then,  again — but  that  is  of  little  consequence  to  you 
— he  is  my  very  good  friend." 

"  I  am  sorry  to  hear  it,"  said  Suzy  to  herself. 

"He  shows    me  many  kind  attentions,"    continued  Mr. 
William,  as  if  he  had  not  heard  her.     "  He  invitos  me  to 
15 


U42  A     NOBLE     LORD. 

dinner,  takes  me  out  boating,  introduces  me  to  his  friends. 
I  might  wait  a  long  time  before  my  Lord  Wellrose  would  do 
anything  of  the  sort." 

"  I  should  hope  so,"  said  Susan  very  gravely.  "  And  there 
is  the  whole  secret  of  your  advocacy  of  that  man  Fitzroy  ! 
You,  my  brother,  who  should  be  my  protector,  are  weak 
enough  and  false  enough  to  be  bribed  by  a  few  flattering 
attentions,  into  favoring  the  suit  of  a  ruined  spendthrift  for 
the  hand  of  your  sister  !  You  who  ought  to  be  my  defender 
from  all  such  !  "  she  added  very  bitterly. 

Mr.  William  was  touched. 

"  And  I  am  your  defender,  Susan  !  And  I  will  be  3rour 
defender !  It  is  because  Fitzroy  loves  you,  and  offers  you 
honorable  marriage  and  a  noble  connection,  that  I  favor  his 
suit.  If  he  should  offer  anything  else,  I  should  pitch  into 
him  and  thrash  him  within  an  inch  of  his  life,  if  he  were 
the  son  of  fifty  noblemen  !  But  I  won't  tease  you  any  more 
about  him ;  indeed  I  won't.  Give  us  your  hand,  old  girl, 
and  let's  say  good  night,  for  it's  three  o'clock  in  the  morn- 
ing  !  » 

Suzy  gave  him  her  hand  sulkily  enough.  She  could  not 
quite  get  over  the  affront  she  had  received. 

"Oh,  by  the  way,  I  forgot.  I  say,  look  here  !  about  that 
languid  swell  of  a  butler  of  yours,  who  looks  like  a  gentle- 
man in  disguise,  and  is  the  perfect  fac  simile  of  Lord  Well- 
rose  !  Who  the  deuce  is  he  ?  And  where  did  you  pick  him 
up  ? "  inquired  Mr.  William,  detaining  the  hand  of  his 
sister. 

"  Is  it  possible  you  did  not  recognize  him  ? "  inquired 
Susan. 

"  Him  !  Who  ?  No,  I  didn't.  I  was  so  taken  up  with 
his  likeness  to  Lord  Wellrose,  that  I  never  once  thought 
whether  I  ever  had  seen  him  before  or  not.  And  now  that1 
I  do  think,  I  am  sure  I  never  saw  him  before.  Who  the 
deuce  is  he,  then  ?  " 


THE     LITTLE     SUPPEE. 

"He  is  Benjamin  Hurst,"  said  Susan  gravely. 

"Ben— jamin—  Who?" 

"Benjamin  Hurst." 

"Benjamin  Hurst!  And  who  the  deuce  is  he  ?  Never 
heard  of  him  in  my  life  before." 

"Oh,  William  !  is  it  possible  that  you  have  utterly  for- 
gotten Benny  ?  little  Benny  who  used  to  be  my  little  play- 
mate in  the  poor  old  times,  in  the  poor  old  house  in  Junk 
Lane  ? "  said  Susan  sadly  and  reproachfully. 

"Whe-ewl"  commented  Mr.  William,  in  a  long,  low 
whistle.  "  So  your  new  butler  is  little  Benny  that  was ! 
Well,  I  should  never  have  thought  it!  Little  Benny  that 
was  transported  for  burglary  fourteen  years  ago,  because 
he  wouldn't  peach  on  his  pals  !  Why,  when  did  he  get 
back  ?  Where  did  you  pick  him  up  ?  " 

Susan  sat  down  and  told  her  brother  where  and  when 
she  had  again  met  Benny. 

"And  I  knew  him  the  minute  I  saw  him,  William — I  did, 
indeed,"  she  added. 

"And  you  gave  him  a  good  situation,  and  made  him  your 
butler." 

"And  house  steward.  It  was  the  best  I  could  do  for  him, 
William.  It  was  the  very  best  he  would  let  me  do  for  him, 
I  mean." 

"  Suzy,  darling,  that  was  bully  !  You're  a  trump  !  "  said 
Mr.  William  heartily. 

"  I'm  so  glad  you  think  so,  Will,"  said  Susan,  once 
more  rising  to  bid  her  brother  good- night. 

After  she  had  left  the  little  smokery,  Mr.  William  con- 
tinued to  smoke  until  he  had  finished  his  pipe,  and  then  he 
too  retired  to  bed. 

The  next  day,  about  the  hour  of  noon,  as  Benjamin  was 
sitting  over  his  account-books,  in  his  little  basement  office, 
the  door  was  opened,  and  Mr.  William  Juniper  entered  and 
clapped  the  young  man  on  the  back,  exclaiming  heartily : 


244  A     NOBLE     LORD. 

"  Hallo,  Ben,  old  chap  !  Is  this  you  ?  I  shouldn't  hare 
known  you  from  the  Lord  Bishop  of  London,  if  my  sister 
hadn't  told  me  who  you  were.  I  say  old  fellow,  I'm  so  gkd 
to  see  you  !  Give  us  your  paw  !  " 

"Thank  you,  Mr.  William,"  said  Benjamin,  rising  and 
placing  his  thin  hand  in  that  of  William  Juniper. 

"  I  say,  look  here  you  know  !  Wa'n't  you  a  little  game- 
cock, to  set  all  the  big  wigs  at  Old  Bailey  at  naught,  and 
allow  them  to  send  you  over  seas  for  fourteen  years,  before 
you'd  peach  ?" 

To  this  question  Benjamin  made  no  reply.  He  only 
placed  a  chair  and  said  : 

"  Will  you  sit  down,  Mr.  William  ?" 

"Not  this  time,  old  fellow  !  But  I'm  coming  in  here  to 
have  a  crack  with  you  often,  and  smoke  a  pipe  in  honor  of 
old  times.  I  say,  you  smoke,  you  know,  don't  you  ?  " 

"  No,  sir." 

"  TUe  dence,  yon  don't !  Then  you  must  learn,  yon  know ! 
Now  I'm  off.  I  only  came  in  to  give  you  a  grip  of  wel- 
come, and  to  tell  you  that  if  ever  you  want  a  friend  to  call 
on  me.  I'm  the  same  old  Billy,  to  you,  as  I  was  when  we 
used  to  fall  out  and  get  our  hands  in  each  other's  hair  and 
roll  all  the  way  down  from  the  top  to  the  bottom  of  the 
stairs  before  either  of  us  would  give  in ;  and  afterwards 
be  better  friends  than  ever." 

"  Thank  you,  Mr.  William." 

"'Bill,'  except  before  folks  I  Now,  then,  I  am  off,"  he 
said,  and  he  went  out. 

Days  passed,  and  both  Susan  and  William  Juniper  treated 
Benjamin  Hurst  more  like  a  brother  than  a  servant. 

And  daily  he  thanked  Heaven  for  the  peace  that  had  de- 
scended upon  him. 


THE  EARL'S  LOVE.        245 


CHAPTER  XXV. 
THE  EARL'S  LOVE. 

Oh,  a  woman's  like  a  dew-drop,  she's  so  purer  than  the  purest! 

And  her  noble  heart's  the  noblest — yes,  and  sure  her  faith's  the  surest. 

— EGBERT  BROWNING. 

THE  young  Earl  of  Wellrose  carried  the  very  spirit  of 
"honor  into  all  the  transactions  of  his  life,  yet  was  his  con- 
duct toward  the  youthful  prima  donna  very  ambiguous. 

He  loved  her;  there  could  be  no  doubt  of  that  in  his 
own  mind,  in  hers,  or  even  in  poor  Benny's. 

The  Earl's  devotion  to  the  singer  was  the  talk  of  all  the 
clubs.  Happily  it  had  not  yet  become  the  gossip  of  the 
boudoirs. 

He  made  her  munificent  presents  of  the  rarest  articles  of 
vertu,  and  which  she  accepted  with  a  sort  of  deprecating 
grace.  For,  in  truth,  while  she  was  very  unwilling  to  take 
Biich  magnificent  gifts,  she  was  much  too  gentle  to  refuse 
them,  especially  when  they  were  chosen  with  so  much  good 
taste  and  propriety,  and  offered  with  such  tact  and  delicacy. 

He  devoted  himself  to  her  in  almost  every  way,  but — he 
never  spoke  of  love  or  marriage ! 

And  she  loved  him  ;  there  was  no  question  of  that,  either 
in  her  mind  or  in  his,  or  in  poor  Benny's.  She  had  been 
drawn  to  him,  first  of  all  by  his  perfect  likeness  to  the  lost 
friend  of  her  childhood,  but  now  she  was  bound  to  him  by 
the  goodness  of  his  heart,  the  brilliancy  of  his  mind,  and 
the  charm  of  his  manner. 

He  was  what  poor  Benny  might  have  been,  if  Benny 
had  been  educated.  And  now  "  she  loved  him  with  a 
love  that  was  her  doom." 

Yes,  she  loved  him  and  she  trusted  him  ;  yet  she  feared 
with  a  deadly  fear  to  lose  him,  because  he  never  spoke  to 
her  of  love  or  marriage. 


246 


A     NOBLE     LORD. 


-And  poor  Benny!  Benny,  waiting  behind  the  chair,  at 
the  little  suppers  where  the  Earl  was  a  favorite  guest,  and 
watching  with  the  most  devoted  affection  over  the  welfare 
of  Suzy — Benny  saw  the  mutual  love  between  the  noble 
Earl  and  the  beautiful  singer ;  saw  the  hesitation  and  in- 
decision in  the  mind  of  the  man,  and  the  fear  and  dread  in 
the  heart  of  the  girl. 

He  saw  it  all,  because  his  vision  was  enlightened  by  love, 
for  no\v  he  too  loved  Suzy,  and  no  longer  only  as  a  brother 
loves  a  sister.  He  loved  her  as  the  Earl  of  Wellrose  loved 
her,  only  infinitely  more. 

As  he  watched  them  at  these  little  suppers,  and  saw, 
evening  after  evening,  the  same  little  drama  performed — 
the  attachment  between  them;  the  doubt  in  the  mind  of 
the  man,  the  dread  in  the  heart  of  the  woman — he  said  to 
himself  that  had  he,  Benny,  been  an  earl  or  even  a  prince, 
and  had  been  so  blessed  as  to  win  her  love,  he  would  never 
have  hesitated  an  instant  to  ask  her  to  be  his  wife.  The 
Earl  of  Wellrose  was  a  gentleman  of  stainless  honor. 
What  did  he  mean  ? 

Benny,  with  his  vision  enlightened  by  pure  love,  saw 
clearly  enough  what  the  Earl  of  Wellrose  meant. 

He  was  waiting  for  something:  possibly  for  a  favorable 
opportunity  to  make  to  his  parents  the  astounding  an- 
nouncement that  he  wished  to  marry  an  opera  singer  ;  per- 
haps for  the  rising  of  parliament ;  perhaps  for  the  marriage 
of  Lady  Hinda  Moray  ;  but  whatever  it  might  be,  he  was 
certainly  waiting,  and  meant  to  wait. 

And  meanwhile  Suzy,  loving  him  with  all  the  deep  pas- 
sion of  her  awakened  heart,  trusting  him,  yet  fearing  to 
lose  him,  grew  sick  and  pale  with  "hope  deferred.  " 

Her  brother  William  gave  her  no  comfort.  He  never 
missed  an  opportunity  of  reminding  her  that  it  was  alto- 
gether useless  for  her  to  expect  a  proposal  of  marriage  from 
such  a  "  heavy  swell  "  as  he  was — meaning  the  Earl  of 
Wellrose,  of  course. 


THE      EARLS     LOVE. 

Upon  these  occasions  Suzy  would  burst  into  tears,  and 
say,  with  a  little  self-deception,  or  perhaps  a  little  hypocrisy, 
that  "  she  was  sure  she  did  not  want  anybody  to  propose 
marriage  to  her,  because  she  had  no  wish  to  be  married  at 
all ;  that  she  wished  everybody  would  mind  their  own  busi- 
ness ;  and  for  the  matter  of  that,  dukes  had  married  ac- 
tresses before  now — witness  the  Duke  of  St.  Albans." 

But  Suzy  grew  pale  and  thin,  though  scarcely  less  lovely ; 
for  now  there  was  a  tender  pensiveness  in  her  face,  a  touch- 
ing pathos  in  her  tones,  more  beautiful  and  endearing  than 
the  most  brilliant  bloom  and  gayest  spirits. 

The  many  worshippers  of  her  genius  said  that  she  was 
wearing  herself  out ;-  that  she  would  meet  the  swan's  fate 
and  die  in  music. 

Benjamin's  heart  ached  for  her  sorrow.  Night  after 
night  he  lay  awake  in  his  room,  wondering  when  the  Earl 
of  Wellrose  would  put  an  end  to  the  suspense  that  was 
killing  the  fair  young  singer. 

At  length  one  evening  when,  as  usual,  the  Earl  supped 
with  the  young  prima  donna,  and  Benny  stood  behind  her 
chair,  he  heard  his  lordship  say,  in  answer  to  some  remark 
of  hers,  that  as  soon  as  parliament  should  rise,  he,  the  Earl, 
should  go  off  in  his  yacht  for  a  cruise  in  the  Mediterranean. 

Benny  could  not  see  her  face;  but  he  knew,  by  the 
sudden  silence  that  came  upon  her,  how  heavily  the  blow 
had  fallen. 

The  Earl  bade  good-night,  and  went  away  rather  earlier 
than  usual. 

Suzy  remained  seated  in  her  chair  in  the  drawing-room. 

Benjamin  went  down  to  his  little  office  room,  deeply 
troubled  in  mind. 

He  remained  sitting  over  his  account-books,  but  doing 
nothing,  until  the  clock  on  his  chimney-piece  struck  two. 

Then  he  started  up,  and  remembered  a  neglected  duty. 

It  was  his  custom  at  twelve  o'clock,  midnight,  to  go  over 


248  A     NOBLE     LORD. 

the  house  to  see  that  all  was  right,  and  then  with  his  own 
hands  to  secure  the  fastenings  of  the  doors  and  windows, 
and  to  turn  off  the  gas. 

And  now  lie  had  remained  so  long  in  his  sad  reverie,  that 
he  was  two  hours  behind  his  usual  time. 

He  arose  and  went  quickly,  but  noiselessly,  up  the  stairs. 

He  looked  to  the  hall  doors  and  windows,  which  he  found 
fast. 

Then  he  passed  into  the  drawing-room,  where  the  gas  was 
burning  very  low. 

He  was  crossing  the  room  toward  the  front  windows,  when 
his  eyes  fell  upon  an  object  that  chilled  his  blood  with 
horror ! 

For  there  in  the  large  arm-chair  sat  the  form,  of  Suzy, 
white,  cold  and  still,  and  to  all  appearance  stone  dead. 

He  flew  to  her,  frantically  caught  her  in  his  arms,  and 
wildly  called  upon  her  name. 

But  it  was  as  if  he  held  a  corpse.  There  was  no  warmth 
in  the  limbs,  no  light  in  the  eyes,  no  breath  between  the 
lips  of  the  senseless  body. 

He  laid  her  down  on  the  sofa  and  violently  rang  the  bell. 

And  then,  without  waiting  for  any  one  to  answer  it,  he 
ran  madly  up  the  stairs,  calling  aloud  for  help,  until  he 
reached  the  housekeeper's  room  door,  just  as  that  worthy 
matron  put  out  her  night-capped  head  in  terror,  and  de- 
manded : 

"  What  on  the  face  of  the  earth  is  the  matter?  " 

"  Oh,  Come  !  Come  quickly,  Mrs.  Brown  !  I  fear  that 
she  is  quite  dead.  It  is — it  is  Suzy.  Mademoiselle  Arielle, 
I  mean  !  Oh,  come  quickly !  She  is  in  the  dravving-rooui 
on  the  sofa.  Dead,  or  in  a  deathly  swoon!"  exclaimed 
Benjamin  in  great  excitement,  as  he  ran  down  stairs, 
followed,  as  fast  as  her  age  would  permit,  by  the  house 
keeper. 

"This  is  a  fainting  fit!     Bring  some  brandy!"  directed 


THE      EARI/S      LOVE.  249 

the  housekeeper,  as  soon  as  she  saw  the  unconscious  form  of 
Suzy. 

Benjamin  flew  to  do  her  bidding,  while  she  laid  the  girl 
down  flat  upon  the  sofa  and  began  to  rub  and  beat  the  life- 
less hands. 

Benjamin  came  back  with  the  brandy,  and  was  immedi- 
ately sent  for  smelling  salts,  which  he  also  quickly  brought. 

And  while  the  experienced  matron  was  using  every  proper 
means  to  restore  the  senseless  form  to  consciousness,  she 
closely  questioned  the  young  man. 

"  How  on  earth  did  this  happen  ?  And  how  did  you  find 
it  out  ?  And  how  came  you  to  be  up  so  late  ?  And  she 
too  ?  Why,  it  must  be  near  three  o'clock  in  the  morning !  " 

And  all  the  while  she  hurried  these  questions  one  upon 
the  other  without  waiting  for  an  answer,  she  was  also  dili- 
gently rubbing  the  patient's  cold  hands,  or  applying  the 
smelling  salts  to  her  nose,  or  putting  the  brandy  to  her 
motionless  lips,  but  without  present  good  effect. 

"  Why  can't  you  speak,  Mr.  Hurst,  and  tell  me  all  about 
it  ?  "  she  impatiently  exclaimed. 

"  I  can  tell  you  very  little,  ma'am,"  answered  Benny,  who 
then  stated  the  case,  and  asked  if  Mademoiselle  was  in  any 
danger. 

"  Not  in  the  least !  Though  what  on  earth  could  have 
caused  her  to  faint  I  have  not  the  slightest  idea.  Have 
you  ?  " 

Yes,  he  had ;  but  he  did  not  mean  to  tell  Mrs.  Brown. 
So  keeping  his  eyes  fixed  upon  the  face  of  the  fainting  girl, 
he  said : 

"  I  think  she  is  coming  to  herself.     Is  she  not?  " 

"Yes,"  said  the  housekeeper,  after  a  scrutinizing  look. 

And  soon,  with  a  deep,  gasping  sigh,  Suzy  recovered  her 
breath,  opened  her  eyes,  and  looked  strangely  around. 

;<  There,  my  dear,  you  are  better  now.  Take  a  tea- 
spoonful  of  brandy,"  said  the  housekeeper,  putting  the  full 
spoou  to  her  lips. 


A     NOBLE     LORD. 

Suzy  obediently  swallowed  the  fiery  liquid,  which  half 
strangled  her,  and  caused  her  to  cough  a  great  deal  and  to 
weep  a  little. 

"  There,  never  mind  its  strength  and  fire  ;  it  will  do  you 
good,"  said  the  housekeeper,  patting  her  on  the  back. 

"Why  did  you  give  me  that  burning  stuff?  I  think  it 
has  taken  all  the  skin  off  the  inside  of  my  throat.  And 
what  has  been  the  matter  here  at  all,  that  you  are  all 
standing  around  me  ?  "  half  angrily  demanded  Suzy  be- 
tween her  gasps. 

"  You  were  found  here  in  a  dead  swoon  by  Mr.  Hurst, 
when  he  came  in  to  turn  off  the  gas.  He  called  me  to  your 
assistance,  and  I  came,  and  I  have  brought  you  to  yourself. 
Take  another  teaspoonful  of  brandy." 

"  Thanks,  no.  I  am  sorry  to  have  given  so  much 
trouble,"  said  Suzy,  with  a  weary  sigh.  Then  turning  to 
her  dressing  maid,  who  had  just  now  joined  the  group,  she 
paid,  "Jenny  Smith,  give  me  your  arm  to  my  room.  I 
will  go  to  bed."  I 

"  Oh,  pray  let  me  assist  you  !  The  girl  is  not  strong 
enough  to  give  you  ranch  help,"  pleaded  Benjamin  Hurst, 
coming  in  her  sight  from  the  head  of  the  sofa. 

"Oh,  are  you  there,  Benny  ?  Thanks  very  much.  Yes, 
certainly  you  may  help  me.  Give  me  your  arm,"  she  said, 
rising  from  the  sofa. 

He  drew  her  arm  within  his  own,  and  supported  her  with 
firmness  and  tenderness  as  she  attempted  to  leave  the  room. 

"  Don't  look  so  distressed,  Benny.  This  is  really  noth- 
ing. I  am  much  better  now,  and  I  shall  be  all  right  to- 
morrow," she  murmured,  with  a  smile,  as  she  noticed  Ben- 
jamin's troubled  countenance. 

He  tenderly  sustained  her  drooping  form  up  the  stairs, 
and  to  the  door  of  her  bed-chamber,  where  he  left  her  in 
charge  of  Mrs.  Brown  and  Jenny  Smith,  who  had  followed 
her  closely. 


THE    EARL'S    LOVE.  251 

Benjamin  went  up  another  flight  of  stairs  to  his  own  back 
room. 

But  he  did  not  go  to  bed. 

The  summer  day  was  now  breaking,  and  Benjamin  sat 
down  at  the  back  window  that  opened  above  the  little 
shrubbery. 

And  as  he  sat  and  thought  over  all  Suzy's  long  sus- 
pense and  distress,  caused  by  the  hesitation  and  inde- 
cision of  her  lover,  and  her  recent  despair  occasioned  by 
the  announcement  of  his  approaching  departure  on  an  ex- 
tensive cruise,  Benjamin  took  a  sudden  resolution. 

Tf  no  one  else  Avould  interfere  to  save  her,  he  would.  If 
no  one  else  would  speak  to  the  Earl  of  Wellrose  in  her  in- 
terests, lie  would.  If  no  one  else  would  ask  the  noble  Earl 
what  were  his  lordship's  intention  in  regsird  to  the  beauti- 
ful young  prima  donna,  whom  he  had  made  the  object  of 
his  devotion,  and  whoso  heart  he  had  won  by  that  devotion, 
lie  would.  For  Suzy's  sake,  he,  poor  Benjamin  Hurst, 
would  bring  the  noble  Earl  of  Wellrose  to  book. 

Even  as,  in  his  wretched  childhood,  he  had  never  hesitated 
to  risk  his  life  or  liberty  in  the  service  of  his  old  protectress, 
Ruth  Drug,  or  of  his  poor,  suffering  acquaintance,  Rosy 
Flowers,  so,  in  the  interests  of  his  childhood's  playmate, 
Suzy  Juniper,  now  the  celebrated  prima  donna,  Made- 
moiselle Arielle,  he  would  not  hesitate  for  one  moment  to 
take  the  distinguished  young  Earl  of  Wellrose  roundly  to 
task,  for  his  thoughtless  conduct  in  regard  to  her. 

"Thoughtless  conduct;"  Benjamin  never  considered  it 
anything  worse  than  that.  He  never  once  suspected  Lord 
Wellrose  of  any  premeditated  wickedness.  He,  like  Suzy, 
had  the  utmost  confidence  in  the  young  Earl's  principles. 
And,  moreover,  he  had  the  strongest  and  the  most  unac- 
countable affection  for  him.  His  heart  warmed  toward  him. 
He  could  believe  no  evil  of  him.  He  felt  sure  that  he 
might  safely  go  to  him  and  say  all  that  was  on  his  mind  to 


252  A     NOB  IE     LORD. 

say,  without  being  misinterpreted,  or  in  any  manner  mis- 
judged. 

He  strangely  felt  that  he  might  go  to  him  as  man  to  man 
— almost  as  brother  to  brother — and  plead  the  cause  of  love 
and  faith.  And  so  he  firmly  resolved  to  do,  before  another 
day  should  pass  over  his  head. 

So  resolving,  Benjamin,  overcome  by  fatigue,  fell  asleep 
with  his  head  on  the  window-sill. 

The  sun,  shining  brightly  and  hotly  in  at  the  window, 
awoke  him. 

Pie  collected  his  faculties,  arose  and  made  his  simple  toi- 
lf-t,  and  then  went  below  stairs  to  attend  to  the  duties  of 
his  office. 

There  were  none  of  the  female  servants  stirring  yet,  so 
he  could  not  hear  how  Suzy  was  this  morning. 

At  eight  o'clock  Mrs.  Brown  came  down  stairs,  and,  in 
reply  to  his  anxious  question,  informed  him  that  "  Made- 
moiselle "  was  fast  asleep. 

The  hours  of  the  forenoon  passed  heavily  away. 

At  eleven  o'clock  Mrs.  Brown  went  softly  into  Suzy's 
room,  and  returned  and  reported  her  still  sleeping  quietly. 

"  But  you  had  better  send  a  message  to  Covent  Garden 
Theatre,  to  say  that  Mademoiselle  Arielle  is  indisposed,  and 
will  not  be  at  the  rehearsal  this  morning.  She  is  due  there, 
you  know,  at  this  hour,  Mr.  Hurst." 

"  L  will  take  the  message  myself,"  said  Benjamin. 

And  having  got  through  his  morning  duties,  he  dressed 
himself  in  his  best  clothes  and  went  to  Covent  Garden 
theatre,  where  he  delivered  his  message  to  the  expectant 
manager. 

And  then  he  set  out  to  walk  to  Cheviot  House,  Piccadilly, 
to  seek  an  interview  with  the  Earl  of  Wellrose. 


THE      BROTHERS      FACE     TO      FACE.        253 

CHAPTEE  XXVI. 

THE  BROTHERS  FACE  TO  FACE. 

You  cannot  know  the  good  and  tender  heart, 
Its  girl's  trust  and  its  woman's  constancy  : 
How  pure,  yet  passionate!   how  calm,  yet  kind  I 
How  grave,  yet  joyous  !  how  reserved,  yet  free 
As  light  where  friends  are! — ROBEBT  BROWNING. 

IN  an  elegantly  furnished  sitting-room,  belonging  to  his 
own  private  suite  of  apartments,  the  young  Earl  of  Wellrose 
was  seated  at  a  table  covered  with  books,  papers  and  writing 
materials,  when  the  door  opened,  and  his  own  valet  noise- 
lessly entered  and  bowed. 

"  Well,  what  now,  Perkins  ? "  inquired  the  Earl,  with 
a  yawn. 

"  If  you  please,  my  lord,  a  person  brought  this  and  waits 
an  answer,"  said  the  valet,  presenting  the  little  pearl  tray, 
upon  which  lay  a  small,  neatly  folded  note. 

The  Earl  took  the  note  listlessly,  opened  it,  and  read : 

"  Will  the  Earl  of  Wellrose  kindly  permit  me  to  see  him 
alone  for  a  few  minutes  ?  I  come  from  No.  — ,  Park  Lane. 

"BENJAMIN  HURST." 

"  Mademoiselle  Arielle's  steward,"  muttered  the  Earl  to 
himself.  "  He  comes  with  some  message  or  some  letter 
from  her,  that  he  is  to  deliver  to  me  alone,"  Then  speak- 
up,  he  said : 

"  Certainly,  Perkins.     Tell  the  young  man  to  come  up." 

The  valet  bowed  and  withdrew,  and  after  a  few  moments 
returned  and  ushered  in  the  visitor,  and  again  retired. 

Benjamin  Hurst  stood  a  few  feet  within  the  door,  and 
bowed. 

"  Come  here,  if  you  please,"  said  Lord  Wellrose,  moving 
his  seat  a  little  way  from  the  table. 

Benny  approached  arid  stood  near  the  Earl. 


254  A      NOBLE      LORD. 

The  brothers,  so  much  alike  in  person  and  in  dispo.-iti'on, 
so  widely  apart  in  social  standing,  so  closely  connected  by 
the  ties  of  blood,  so  utterly  unconscious  of  their  relation- 
ship, stood  face  to  face,  and  looked  at  each  other  with  more 
of  deeply  curious  interest  than  either  could  explain  to  him- 
self. 

"  You  come  from  Mademoiselle  Arielle,  I  presume  ?  "  said 
the  Earl. 

"  No,  my  lord ;  I  come  only  from  her  house,"  replied 
Benny. 

"  But  you  bring  some  message  or  letter  for  me?" 

"None,  my  lord." 

"  Then,  my  good  fellow,  what  brings  you  here  at  all  ?  " 
inquired  the  Earl,  in  some  little  surprise. 

Benjamin  Hurst  hesitated.  He  now  felt  that  it  was  very 
difficult  to  enter  upon  the  delicate  subject  of  his  visit.  Yet 
he  was  firmly  resolved  to  do  it.  After  a  short  pause,  during 
which  the  young  Earl  looked  at  him  with  a  most  embarrass- 
ing attention,  as  if  waiting  for  him  to  go  on,  he  said: 

"My  lord,  I  fear  that  you  will  think  it  very  presuming 
in  me  to  come  to  you  as  1  come  this  morning,  and  speak  to 
you  as  I  must  speak — 

Here  the  Earl  of  Wellrose  lifted  his  eyebrows  question- 
ingly,  but  said  nothing. 

"  But,  my  lord,  I  come  here  in  the  interests  and  for  the 
sake  of  Suzy — "  continued  Benny. 

"  Suzy  ! "  repeated  the  Earl,  more  and  more  surprised 
and  perplexed. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  my  lord.  I  should  have  said  Mad- 
emoiselle Arielle.  But  perhaps  your  lordship  may  know 
that  this  is  only  her  pretty  nomme  de  theatre;  and  that  she 
is  of  English  birth,  though  of  French  training,"  Benjamin 
explained. 

"  I  have  heard  so  from  her  own  lips,w  the  Earl  assented. 

"  Then,  my  lord,  you  may  have  also  heard  from  her,  who 


THE      BROTHERS      FACE     TO      FACE.        255 

has  no  secrets  from  her  friends,  that  long  before  her  French 
training  and  her  splendid  success  under  her  French  name, 
long  before  all  that,  even  in  the  days  of  her  childhood,  when 
she  lived  in  her  humble  English  home,  and  bore  her  obscure 
English  name,  she  had  a  child  friend,  of  her  own  age,  dearer 
to  her  than  brother  or  sister ;  for  he  loved  her  beyond  every- 
thing on  earth  or  in  heaven,"  murmured  Benny,  his  voice 
nearly  breaking  down. 

"  Yes,  my  poor  fellow,  I  have  heard  all  that  too ;  and  how 
she  wished  and  endeavored,  in  memory  of  that  childhood's 
friendship,  to  do  a  friend's  part  by  you,  and  place  you  in 
some  better  position  than  that  which  you  now  occupy  in  her 
house ;  but  that  you  would  accept  of  nothing  better  than  it. 
I  never  heard  why  jrou  would  not,"  said  the  Earl,  with  a 
compassionate  look  ;  for  his  heart  was  strangely,  strongly 
drawn  toward  the  poor  outcast. 

"A  mixed  motive  of  mingled  pride  and  shame,  I  believe, 
my  lord.  She  could  not  have  told  you  the  whole  of  my  mis- 
erable past,  or  you  would  know  that  I  am  not  even  worthy 
of  the  place  I  now,  through  her  goodness,  hold  in  her  house. 
But  I  am  not  here  to  speak  of  myself,  my  lord,  but  of  her. 
And  your  kindness  to  me  makes  it  much  easier  to  do  so.  I 
have  your  lordship's  permission,  I  hope." 

"  Certainly.  Speak  on,"  replied  the  Earl,  as  a  slight 
shade  of  annoyance  passed  over  his  face.  "  Go  on  with  what 
you  have  to  say,  and  be  sure  that  no  injustice  shall  misinter- 
pret your  words  or  motives." 

"  I  thank  your  lordship,"  said  Benjamin,  drawing  a  deep 
breath. 

"  And  pray  sit  down,  while  you  speak.  You  do  not  seem 
strong,"  said  the  Earl  kindly. 

Benjamin  bowed  and  availed  himself  of  the  offered  seat. 

"And  now?"  inquired  Lord  Wellrose. 

"  My  lord,  what  I  had  to  say  to  you  is  this  :  that  there  is  a 
rumor  everywhere  afloat,  to  the  effect  that  still  another  peer- 


256  A     NOBLE     LORD. 

ess  is  to  be  recruited  from  the  ranks  of  art.  And  from  the 
bottom  of  my  heart  I  hope  that  the  rumor  may  be  true, 
which  intimately  connects  the  names  of  the  Earl  of  Well- 
rose  and  Mademoiselle  Arielle — and — honorably,  I  mean  of 
course.  Again  let  me  repeat  that  from  my  heart  and  soul 
I  hope  and  trust  that  the  rumor  may  be  correct,"  said 
Benjamin  solemnly. 

Without  reply,  the  Earl  arose  and  walked  uneasily  up  and 
down  the  room,  opened  a  window,  and  then,  as  if  annoyed 
at  having  shown  even  so  much  disturbance,  he  returned  to 
the  table  and  resumed  his  seat,  and  said  quietly  : 

"  Well,  my  good  fellow — for  you  really  are  a  good  fellow — 
well,  what  of  all  this  ?  " 

Benjamin  Hurst  lifted  his  head  and  looked  at  the  Earl  so 
gravely,  earnestly,  solemnly,  that  his  lordship's  eyelids  low- 
ered beneath  the  steady  blue  gaze. 

"  What  can  it  possibly  matter,"  said  Lord  Wellrose, 
forcibly  keeping  down  and  controlling  the  extreme  sense  of 
annoyance  he  experienced — "  what  can  it  possibly  matter 
whether  rumor,  which  is  so  often  false,  so  seldom  true, 
should  be  false  or  true  in  this  single  instance?  " 

"  Nothing  whatever,  my  lord,  to  the  gossips  who  circulate 
the  report ;  but  little,  also,  as  regards  your  lordship's  name ; 
and  not  much  even  as  regards  hers ;  for  these  are  all  merely 
external  circumstances.  But,  my  lord,  there  is  more  in- 
volved in  this  affair  than  mere  town  talk,  or  even  than  nolile 
and  famous  names.  There  is  a  whole  life's  happiness  in- 
volved in  it,  Lord  Wellrose,"  said  Benjamin,  with  much 
emotion. 

The  Earl  was  beginning  to  lose  some  of  his  cool  self- 
control.  He  impatiently  tapped  his  slippered  foot  with  the 
point  of  a  little  cane  that  he  held  in  his  hand,  and  after  a 
short  silence,  said  suddenly : 

41  For  Heaven's  sake,  man,  go  on,  and  say  your  worst ! " 

"My   lord,  forgive   me   that   I    must   do   so.     I   would 


THE   BROTHERS   FACE   TO   FACE.  257 

willingly  avoid  the  duty,  were  there  any  one  else  to  do  it. 
I  am,  also,  so  conscious  of  a  seeming  impertinence  in  my  in- 
terference, that  I  can  only  trust  in  your  lordship's  goodness 
for  a  favorable  consideration." 

Here  Benjamin  paused  for  a  moment.  Lord  "Wellrose 
impatiently  waved  his  hand  ;  and  Benjamin  resumed  : 

"  Lord  Wellrose,  you  have  been  for  the  last  three  months 
constantly  visiting  Mademoiselle  Arielle,  both  at  the  opera 
and  at  her  house.  You  have  lavished  upon  her  the  zealous 
attentions  of  a  devoted  lover.  These  constant  and  pointed 
attentions,  together  with  her  most  favorable  acceptance  of 
them,  has  occasioned  the  talk  in  the  clubs,  and  in  all  other 
places  where  such  matters  are  likely  to  be  discussed.  It  is 
confidently  asserted  that  you  will  marry  her.  It  is  of  very 
little  consequence  to  the  world  at  large  whether  this  asser- 
tion be  true  or  false.  But  it  is  of  vital  importance  to  her." 

"Of  vital  importance  to  her!"  echoed  the  Earl,  as  if 
speaking  to  himself. 

"  Yes,  Lord  Wellrose.  Her  father,  my  lord,  is  an  humble 
but  honorable  man.  He  is  in  Australia  now.  Had  he  been 
present  here  in  England,  he  would  have  politely  inquired 
into  your  lordship's  intentions  long  hefore  this." 

The  Earl's  face  flushed. 

"  Does  any  one  dare  to  believe  that  I  could  have — "  he 
began,  but  he  could  not  go  on.  His  color  deepened,  as 
Benny  answered  the  half-formed  question  : 

"  No,  my  lord  ;  no  one  ventures  to  impute  evil  to  you — 
that  is,  evil  intention.  But  wliat  says  the  poet  Page? 
'  More  evil  is  wrought  from  want  of  thought,  than  ever  from 
want  of  heart.'  " 

"  Explain  yourself. " 

"  I  will.   It  is  no  disparagement  to  your  honor,  my  lord, 
to  say  that  your  admiration  and  affection  for  Mademoiselle 
Arielie  is  patent  to  all  observers.     It  is  no  reproach  to  her 
delicacy  to  say  that  your  devotion  has  won  her  heart." 
16 


258  A     NOBLE     LORD. 

Lord  Wellrose  covered  his  eyes  with  his  hand.  Benjamin 
continued : 

"  Your  devotion,  nay  lord,  has  not  only  \von  her  confidence 
and  affection,  but  has  led  her — very  naturally  and  properly 
• — led  her  to  expect  no  less  than  the  offer  of  your  hand  in 
marriage." 

"  I  have  been  criminally  thoughtless  ! "  sighed  the  Earl. 

Benjamin,  perceiving  the  effect  he  produced,  went  on  to 
say: 

"  From  day  to  day  she  looks  for  the  offer  of  .your  hand — 
naturally  and  properly  looks  for  it,  as  I  said  before." 

"  I  cannot  justify  my  conduct !  "  said  the  Earl. 

"  And  from  day  to  day  she  wastes  and  sickens  with  '  hope 
deferred  ! '  "  continued  Benjamin. 

"  I  shall  never  be  able  to  forgive  rrn'self,"  murmured  Lord 
Wellrose. 

"Yes,  my  lord,  you  will!  for  you  are  a  noble  man  sans 
reproche.  You  will  do  all  that  honor  requires  of  you.  And 
then  you  will  forgive  yourself,  if  indeed  you  will  have  any- 
thing to  forgive  ! — Oh  !  my  God  !  I  know  how  presumptive 
and  insolent  my  words  must  seem  ! "  exclaimed  Benny,  iu 
much  distress. 

But  the  Earl  of  Wellrose  took  his  hand: 

"Presumptive!  insolent!"  his  lordship  said.  "No;  to 
me  they  seem  good,  true,  brave  words — words  in  season,  for 
which  I  thank  you  !  Leave  me  now,  Benjamin  Hurst !  I 
need  to  be  alone,  and  so,  probabl}',  do  you.  Good-bye. 
Trust  the  welfare  of  3?our  childhood's  friend  to  me,"  said 
Lord  Wellrose  earnestly. 

"  I  do,  my  lord,  I  do  !  "  answered  Benjamin,  as  he  bowed 
himself  out. 

The  Earl  of  Wellrose  remained  immersed  in  deep 
thought. 

"  I  wonder  if  I  am  awake,"  he  said  to  himself.     "  Or  is 
there  another  man   in  Europe  from   whom   I   would 
taken  all  that  I  have  taken  from  this  poor,  pale  boy  ?  " 


THE    OUTCAST'S    LOVE.  255 

CHAPTER  XXVII. 
THE    OUTCAST'S    LOVE. 

I  give  thee  prayers,  like  jewels  strung 

On  golden  threads  of  hope  and  fear, 
And  thoughts  more  tender  than  e'er  hung 

In  a  pure  angel's  pitying  tear. — ANON. 

BENJAMIN  HURST  returned  home,  feeling  that  his  mis- 
sion had  been  successful.  But  }rou  kuow  what  he  had  done. 
He  had  sacrificed  his  own  heart  for  her  happiness.  He 
loved  her  more  than  the  Earl  did  or  could ;  for  he  had  but 
ner  in  the  whole  world  to  love,  while  the  Earl  had  many 
others.  But  then  he  was  born  for  sacrifice.  And  besides, 
he  loved  her  with  a  love  so  pure,  so  holy,  so  almost  divine, 
that  her  happiness  was  essential  to  his  own  peace.  To  pur- 
chase her  happiness,  he  would  have  been  willing  to  pay  the 
price  of  his  own  life  or  liberty ;  yes,  he  would  have  been 
willing  to  be  put  to  death,  or  to  be  sent  back  to  the  penal 
colonies  for  life,  if  necessary.  Already  he  had  made  what 
sacrifice  he  could — the  sacrifice  of  his  own  heart ;  for  to  pro- 
mote her  marriage  with  the  Earl  was  no  less.  And  ah  !  too 
soon  the  question  was  to  be  put  to  the  test  whether  he  would 
go  further,  whether  he  would  lay  down  his  life  for  his  love ! 

The  Earl  called  at  Park  Lane  that  afternoon,  and  sent  up 
his  card  to  Mademoiselle  Arielle. 

And  she  came  down  to  receive  him. 

They  had  an  interview  that  lasted  more  than  an  hour. 

And  when  it  was  over,  and  he  had  taken  leave  and  gone 
away,  Suzy  went  singing  gayly  up  to  her  own  room,  no  sign 
of  the  night's  illness  or  the  morning's  languor  in  her  step 
or  voice.  And  Benjamin  knew  by  these  sure  tokens  that 
all  was  well. 

He  felt  satisfied  for  her  ;  but  for  himself,  a  feeling  of  des- 
olation swept  over  his  soul,  like  the  cold,  dark  blast  of  a 
sudden  wintry  s  tor  in.  And  he  sighed,  and  found  himself 


260  A      NOBLE     LORD. 

wondering  whether  his  life  was  to  be  a  long  one,  and  hoping 
that  Heaven  might  make  it  short. 

At  dinner-time  he  waited  as  usual  behind  her  chair;  and 
he  noticed  then  that  her  very  countenance  seemed  trans- 
figured with  happiness. 

There  was  no  one  at  the  table  except  herself  and  her 
brother,  and  no  one  waiting  on  them  but  Benjamin.  And 
they  always  spoke  freely  before  him.  So  Mr.  Bill  opened 
the  conversation  with  his  usual  theme. 

"  That  heavy  swell  is  agoing  to  the  Mediterranean  in  his 
own  yacht,  is  he  ?  And  a  good  riddance  too  !  Only,  if  he 
was  half  the  gentleman  the  Honorable  Stuart  Fitzroy  is, 
he'd  invite  me  to  go  along  with  him,  seeing  as  he  is  so  sweet 
on  my  sister,"  he  said. 

At  any  other  time  Suzy  would  have  made  a  sharp  reply, 
but  now  was  so  calmly,  serenely  happy  that  she  could  not 
find  it  in  her  heart  to  rebuke  her  offending  brother. 

"  It  is  not  certain  that  he  will  go  to  the  Mediterranean, 
Will.,"  she  said. 

"  Oh,  isn't  it  ?  Well,  I  heard  him  tell  you  so  last  night 
at  supper;  that's  something.  Yes,  and  I  saw  that  you  felt 
very  far  down  in  the  mouth  at  it  too  !  That's  more.  And 
this  morning  you've  braced  up  again.  That's  most  of  all. 
And  you  tell  me  that  it  is  not  certain  his  lordship  will  go  to 
the  Mediterranean.  And  that's  everything.  Now  I  want 
to  know  what  the  deuce  is  up?  "  demanded  Mr.  Will. 

"One  thing  that  is  up  is  this,  that  if  you  cannot  behave 
yourself  more  like  a  gentleman,  we  must  part  company, 
Will.,"  said  Suzy  firmly. 

"  Well,  if  gentlemen  allow  their  pretty  sisters  to  receive 
the  particular  attention  of  noblemen  who  never  speak  of 
marriage,  and  never  intend  to  do  so.  then  be  certain  I  never 
can  act  like  a  gentleman,"  retorted  Will.,  who,  be  it  observed, 
could  always  do  a  brother's  duty  by  bullying  his  sister,  but 
never  once  by  calling  her  suitor  to  account,  as  poor  Benny  had 
dared  to  do. 


THE    OUTCAST'S    LOVE.  261 

Suzy  was  half  angry — only  half  angry — and  much  too 
happy  to  quarrel  with  Will. 

"  It  is  all  right,  Will. — all  quite  right !  Trust  in  me, 
and — trust  in  him.  And  now  let  us  speak  no  more  about  it 
for  the  present,"  she  said  pleasantly. 

"  It  may  be  all  right.  And  it  had  better  be  all  right,  for 
his  sake  as  well  as  your  own.  He'll  never  do  you  a  wrong, 
Suzy,  if  he  knows  what's  good  for  his  health  and  longevity, 
I  could  tell  him  that.  For  if  he  were  twenty  times  an 
Earl,  I  wouldn't  stand  any  nonsense  from  him,  where  you 
are  concerned  ! "  said  Mr.  William,  nodding  his  head  iu  a 
very  determined  manner. 

"  My  doughty  brother,  you  will  not  be  called  upon  to 
show  your  zeal  and  courage  in  my  defence.  Very  soon  you 
shall  be  convinced  that  there  is  no  sort  of  necessity  for  you 
to  do  so,  and  that  all  is  right.  So  now  let  us  dismiss  the 
subject,"  said  Suzy,  smiling. 

"  In  a  moment.  Tell  me  first ;  is  he  coming  here  to- 
night ?  " 

"  The  Earl  ?  " 

"  Yes,  the  Earl." 

"No;  he  is  not  coming  here  to-night.  His  bill  for  the 
Improvement  of  Prison  Discipline  for  the  Eeclamation  of 
Criminals  will  be  up  before  the  House  of  Commons.  A 
great  debate  is  expected  upon  it,  and  he  must  be  there, 
perhaps  all  night." 

"  Good.  Well  now,  will  you  do  me  a  favor,  Suzy  ?  I 
assure  you  I  would  not  ask  it  if  Lord  Wellrose  was  going 
to  be  here  this  evening,"  said  Will.,  in  an  almost  pleading 
voice. 

"  What  is  it  ? "  inquired  Suzy,  always  dreading  to  be 
asked  to  do  anything  by  William,  whose  demands  were 
scarcely  ever  right  or  reasonable. 

His  present  demand  certainly  was  not.  Perhaps  he 
knew  it  j  for  he  hesitated  and  cleared  his  throat  before  he 
said: 


262  A     NOBLE     LORD. 

"-Will  you  let  me  bring  my  particular  friend,  the  Honor- 
able Stuart  Fitzroy,  here  this  evening?" 

"  Will. !  you  know  I  do  not  like  that  man,"  said  Suzy, 
deprecatingly. 

"  Well,  upon  my  sacred  word  and  honor,  I  think  you  and 
I  a  pretty  pair  of  a  sister  and  brother !  You  do  not  like 
my  friend,  the  Honorable  Stuart  Fitzroy,  and  I  do  not  like 
your  friend,  my  Lord  Wellrose.  But  this  is  the  difference 
between  us :  I  let  your  friend  come  to  supper  two  or  three 
times  a  week  ;  while  you  never  let  mine  at  all.  Blest  if  I 
don't  think,  under  all  the  circumstances,  that  I  am  the  bet- 
ter fellow  of  the  two !  "  grumbled  Mr.  William  with  an  in- 
jured air. 

He  spoke  quite  as  if  Suzy's  little  palace  in  Park  Lane 
was  his  own  house  instead  of  hers. 

But  Suzy  only  smiled  at  him. 

"  I  think  you  might  let  Stuart  Fitzroy  come  here  once  in 
a  way.  He  has  never  once  been  invited  here  since  you 
boxed  his  ears  !  "  growled  Mr.  William. 

"  Oh,  Will !  I  never  boxed  a  man's  ears  in  my  life ! " 
said  Suzy,  deeply  shocked. 

"  Well,  you  as  good  as  did  it ;  so  there.  And  he's  never 
been  invited  here  since.  I  say,  can't  he  come  this  even- 
ing ?  "  persisted  the  brother. 

"  Well,  yes,  if  you  wish  him  to  come  very  much,"  as- 
sented Suzy,  with  a  sigh. 

"  I  do  wish  it  very  much,"  said  Mr.  William. 

"  Then  it  is  settled,"  said  Suzy,  as  she  arose  and  left  the 
table. 

Benjamin  heard  the  whole  discussion,  never  dreaming, 
poor,  fated  fellow  !  how  deep  a  stake  he  had  in  the  issue. 

Suzy  went  up  to  her  room  to  prepare  to  go  to  the  opern. 
She  soon  came  down  cloaked,  hooded  and  vailed,  and  took 
her  seat  in  the  little  brougham  which  was  waiting  to  re- 
ceive her. 


THE    OUTCAST'S    LOVE.  263 

That  night  it  happened  that  Benjamin's  duties  permitted 
him  to  indulge  himself  with  an  evening  at  the  opera. 

When  the  hour  came,  he  went  and  took  his  usual  modest 
seat  in  the  crowded  parquette. 

The  opera  for  the  evening  was  "  La  Somnambula,"  and 
of  course  Mademoiselle  Arielle  took  the  part  of  Amina. 

The  house  was,  «as  usual,  crowded  from  parquette  to 
gallery. 

Lord  Wellrose  was  not  in  his  usual  seat  in  the  front  row 
of  orchestra  stalls.  Benjamin,  who  noticed  his  absence, 
knew  the  reason  of  it.  He  had  heard  Suzy  say  that  Lord 
Wellrose  must  be  in  his  seat  in  the  House  of  Commons  that 
evening,  because  his  lordship's  Bill  for  the  Improvement  of 
Prison  Discipline  for  the  Reclamation  of  Criminals  was  to 
be  up  that  night,  and  it  behooved  his  lordship,  of  all  other 
members,  to  be  present  there. 

But  his  stall  at  the  opera  was  filled  —  most  uncannily 
filled,  Benjamin  thought,  for  the  Honorable  Stuart  Fitzroy 
occupied  it.  And  by  his  side  sat  Mr.  William  Juniper. 

The  curtain  rose  on  the  village  festival  in  honor  of  the 
betrothal  of  the  heroine  to  the  hero  of  the  play.  But 
though  the  music  and  singing  were  excellent,  no  one  paid 
much  attention  to  them  until  the  entrance  of  Mademoiselle 
Arielle  as  Amina. 

She  was  received  with  the  usual  outburst  of  most  enthu- 
siastic applause. 

And  she  smiled  and  courtesied,  and  courtesied  and  smiled 
until  the  storm  subsided,  and  then  she  began  to  sing. 

And  never,  said  her  worshippers,  had  her  beauty  been  so 
divine,  or  her  voice  so  enrapturing. 

They  thought  she  slurred  the  pathetic  songs  in  the 
second  act.  But  in  the  last  scene  of  the  third  act,  the 
scene  of  the  reconciliation  with  her  lover,  her  song  burst 
forth  with  such  a  gush  of  irrepressible  rapture,  that  all  the 
critics  then  and  there  declared  that  there  was  not,  never 


264  A     NOBLE    LORD. 

had  been,  and  never  would  be  such  another  celestial  song- 
stress on  earth. 

The  curtain  fell  amid  an  earthquake  of  enthusiasm. 

And  Mademoiselle  Arielle  left  the  theatre  weary,  but 
very  happy. 

Benjamin  went  out  with  the  crowd. 

Near  the  stage  door  he  saw  Mademoiselle's  little  brougham 
waiting. 

And  he  saw  her  come  out,  lenning  on  the  arm  of  hrr 
brother,  and  closely  followed  by  the  Honorable  Stuart  Fitz- 
roy. 

Mr.  William  handed  her  into  the  carriage,  and  then  paus- 
ing with  his  foot  on  the  step,  inquired  : 

"  Can  you  give  myself  and  Mr.  Fitzroy  a  seat  as  far  as 
Park  Lane,  Suzy  ?" 

She  looked  extremely  annoyed,  hesitated,  and  then 
answered : 

"  No,  Will,  I  really  cannot.  You  must  indeed  excuse 
me." 

"Oh,  very  well.  You  have  accommodated  the  Earl  of 
Wellrose  before  now,  and  even  your  own  house  steward, 
with  a  seat  in  your  carriage,"  he  growled. 

"  Will,"  she  whispered  in  a  very  low  tone,  "  if  you  are 
not  ashamed  of  yourself,  /am  ashamed  enough  for  both  of 
us.  Bring  your  friend  to  supper  in  a  hansom,  if  you  must 
bring  him  at  all.  And  now  be  so  good  as  to  shut  the  door, 
and  order  the  coachman  to  drive  home." 

Mr.  William  sulkily  obeyed.  And  the  little  brougham 
rolled  off  at  a  rapid  rate. 

"  And  she  did  not  even  pick  up  my  bouquet  from  the 
stage,  though  it  contained  a  ruby  ring  a  royal  princess 
might  have  envied,"  grumbled  the  Honorable  Stuart  Eitz- 
roy  in  a  very  injured  tone. 

"  Perhaps  she  didn't  know  it  was  yours,"  suggested  Mr. 
WTilliam. 


THE  OUTCAST'S   LOVE.  265 

"  Oh  yos,  she  did,  for  I  didn't  throw  it  until  I  had  caught 
her  eye.  Then  I  threw  it,  and  she  saw  me  throw  it,  and 
she  knew  it  was  mine,  and  that  was  the  very  reason  wliy 
she  didn't  pick  it  up  !  I  don't  know  what  you  call  that  sort 
of  conduct,  but  /call  it  exceedingly  ill-bred,"  growled  the 
Honorable  Stuart  Fitzroy. 

"  Oh,  come  now  !  none  of  that,  you  know,  about  my 
sister  1  She's  not  ill-bred  ;  but  she's  capricious  1  I  fancy  ail 
girls  are  so  at  times,  even  Royal  Princesses.  And  a  man 
of  the  world  like  yourself  should  make  allowances  for  the 
weakness  of  the  sex." 

"  I  say  it  is  not  very  encouraging,"  said  the  Honorable 
Stuart  Fitzroy,  with  a  very  injured  look. 

11  Not  encouraging,  when  she  invites  you  to  supper  ? 
Bosh  I  Come,  here's  a  hansom,  with  a  fairish  sort  of  horse. 
Let's  take  it  and  go  on,"  replied  Mr.  William,  as  he  sig- 
nalled the  cabman  to  draw  up  on  the  sidewalk. 

They  entered  the  cab  and  ordered  the  cabman  to  take 
them  to  Park  Lane. 

Benjamin  Hurst  hailed  a  passing  omnibus,  got  upon  the 
top,  and  started  in  the  same  direction. 

He  was  the  last  to  reach  the  house,  for  the  omnibus  set 
him  down  at  a  corner  some  streets  off  from  the  aristocratic 
neighborhood  of  Park  Lane. 

But  be  was  still  in  good  time  to  attend  to  his  evening 
duties. 

He  went  to  the  Rose  Parlor,  where  the  elegant  little 
supper  was  laid,  and  where  the  light  was  subdued  by  ro- 
seate shades  and  the  air  filled  with  fragrance  from  the  Ruse 
Garden  beyond. 

He  saw  that  all  was  perfect  there. 

He  heard  the  voices  of  the  Honorable  Stuart  and  Mr. 
William,  as  they  entered  the  adjoining:  drawing-room. 

And  soon  after  he  heard  the  melodious  tones  of  Suzy,  as 
she  carue  in  and  welcomed  them. 


266  A      NOBLE      LORD. 

The  supper  hour  was  eleven.  As  soon  as  the  clock  struck, 
Benjamin  drew  the  rose  damask  satin  curtains  that  divided 
the  Rose  Parlor  from  the  drawing-room,  and  said  with  his 
usual  formula  : 

"  Mademoiselle  is  served." 

Suzy  arose  and  took  the  offered  arm  of  Mr.  Stuart  Fitzroy, 
and  led  the  way  to  the  table,  followed  by  Mr.  William  con- 
ducting Mrs.  Brown. 

The  four  sat  down,  and  the  feast  began. 

Benjamin  stood  behind  Suzy's  chair,  and  as  usual  waited 
on  her  alone — filling  her  glass,  passing  her  plate,  watching 
and  anticipating  her  wants. 

The  two  young  footmen,  Smith  and  Jones,  attended  to 
the  other  members  of  the  supper  party. 

And  the  wine  was  passed,  and  the  Honorable  Stuart  and 
Mr.  William  became  very  merry. 

Before  they  had  been  an  hour  at  the  table,  Benjamin 
knew,  to  his  disgust,  what  he  had  strongly  suspected  even  at 
the  theatre — namely,  that  both  these  young  men  were  in- 
ebriated, and  growing  more  so  every  five  minutes. 

Suzy  was  slow  to  perceive  this.  But  Mrs.  Brown  observed 
it,  and  tried  to  catch  Suzy's  eye,  that  she  might  telegraph 
her  to  rise  and  leave  the  "  gentlemen  "  at  the  table.  But  as 
is  usual  in  such  a  case,  she  found  it  impossible  to  attract  the 
attention  of  her  subject,  though  she  drew  upon  herself  that 
of  the  Honorable  Stuart,  who,  after  watching  her  for  a  few 
minutes,  probably  divining  her  intention,  turned  to  Mr. 
William  and  inquired,  in  an  audible  whisper : 

"  What  the  deuce  is  the  matter  with  the  old  girl  ?  " 

"  I'm  sure  I  don't  know,  unless  she's  had  more  cham- 
pagne than  is  good  for  her,"  replied  Mr.  William,  with  a 
low  laugh. 

"  My  love,  I  think  we  had  better  retire,"  said  Mrs. 
Brown,  speaking  plainly  at  last,  as  she  calmly  arose  from 
her  seat. 


THE    OUTCAST'S    LOVE.  267 

"I  say,  she  thinks  we're  at  dinner,  and  she's  going  to 
leave  us  over  our  wine  !  hiccupped  the  Honorable  Stuart. 

"Don't  go,  Suzy,"  said  Mr.  William,  seeing  that  his 
sister  was  preparing  to  follow  her  companion. 

"  Excuse  me,  for  I  must  leave  the  table,"  replied  Suzy 
with  gentle  dignity,  as  she  moved  away. 

"  Oh,  by ,  this  will    not   do  at    all !     Our   guardian 

angel  must  not  be  permitted  to  take  flight  in  this  way  ! " 
said  Mr.  Stuart  Fitzroy,  rising  and  following  her. 

"  Return  to  your  seat,  sir,  if  you  have  any  grace  at  all !  " 
Suzy  haughtily  commanded,  averting  her  head. 

"  So  I  will  return,  my  dear ;  but  you  must  return  with 
me,"  he  stuttered,  taking  her  hand  and  attempting  to  draw 
her  back. 

She  snatched  her  hand  from  him  with  a  flash  of  scorn 
and  anger. 

"Sit  down,  Suzy,  and  don't  be  a  fool!"  Mr.  William 
advised. 

She  turned  a  look  of  sorrow  and  reproach  upon  her 
brother,  and  moved  toward  the  door. 

Then  the  Honorable  Stuart  caught  her  around  the  waist, 
and  laughing  in  a  foolish,  coaxing  manner,  attempted  to 
take  her  back  to  the  table. 

Her  brother  also  laughed. 

Benjamin  Hurst  started  forward,  his  usually  gentle  blue 
eyes  blazing  with  wrath.  But  even  before  he  could  come  to 
her  rescue,  Suzy  had  thrown  her  rude  assailant  off,  and 
gained  the  door,  where,  standing  for  an  instant,  she  said, 
with  dignity : 

"  Benjamin  Hurst,  I  charge  you  to  see  that  gentleman 
out  of  the  house,  and  attend  him  to  his  home.  He  is 
clearly  not  in  a  condition  to  take  care  of  himself,  any  more 
than  to  be  responsible  for  his  ill-breeding." 

And  so  saying,  she  passed  out  of  sight. 

"There!  now  you  have  done  it!  You  see,  you  went  too 
far  !  You  were  rude,  you  know,"  stuttered  Mr.  William. 


268  A    NOBLE    LORD. 

"Rude  !  Really  !  Indeed  !  I  should  have  been  considered 
rude  to  a  lady !  I  suppose;  but  is  a  gentleman  expected 
to  stand  on  ceremony  with  such  as  she?"  inquired  the 
Honorable  Stuart,  with  a  scornful  laugh,  for  he  was  both 
very  drunk  and  very  angry. 

"I  say,  look  here,  you  know  !  What  the  deuce  do  you 
mean  by  that  ?"  hiccupped  Mr.  William,  as  he  poured  out 
and  turned  off  another  bumper  of  champagne. 

"  Come,  sir  1"  said  Benjamin  Hurst,  firmly.  "  Made- 
moiselle desired  that  I  should  see  you  safe  out  of  this  house, 
and  into  your  own.  I  am  ready  to  attend  you." 

"  So  am  I  ready  !"  laughed  the  inebriate  defiantly. 

"But  hold  on  !  I  say,  look  here,  you  know  !"  repeated 
Mr.  William,  in  half-muddled  dignity.  "  What  do  you 
mean,  you  know  ?  " 

"  I  mean  to  go  home,  that's  what  I  mean.  Here,  you 
fellow  !  show  me  to  the  door,"  answered  Mr.  Stuart  Fitz- 
roy,  with  a  reckless  air. 

Benjamin  handed  him  his  hat  and  gloves,  and  then  took 
his  arm  to  assist  his  rather  uncertain  steps. 

Jones  held  open  the  room  door,  while  Smith  went  before 
and  opened  the  street  door. 

Benjamin  Hurst  took  his  charge  out  upon  the  sidewalk 
and  began  to  lead  him  along,  with  the  intention  of  hailing 
the  first  empty  cab  that  passed. 

The  fresh  air  seemed  to  help  the  inebriated  man,  who 
walked  somewhat  more  steadily. 

Meanwhile,  Mr.  William  sat  over  the  wine  at  the  de- 
serted supper-table,  pouring  out  and  drinking  champagne  as 
freely  as  a  thirsty  man  would  drink  water.  And  he  brooded 
over  the  contemptuous  words  that  Fitzroy  had  used  in 
reference  to  his  sister. 

"What  devil  did  he  mean  by — by  'such's  she?'"  he 
inquired  of  himself.  Then  he  drank  more  wine,  and  mut- 
tered : 


THE    OUTCAST'S    LOVE.  269 

"Meant  something  'fensive,  know  he  did.  What  dev'l 
was't  ?  "  And  he  drank  still  more  wine,  and  grumbled  : 

"  Ought  to  called — called  'm  to  'count  for  's  words,  'bout 
my  sister."  And  again  he  drank  yet  more  wine,  and  then 
he  staggered  to  his  feet,  muttering  : 

"  Do  it  yet.  Do  it,  sure.  Call  'm  to  'count  for  's  'suiting 
words,  'bout  my  sister  !  " 

And  so,  crazed  with  drink,  he  left  the  house  and  went  in 
the  direction  taken  by  Benjamin  Hurst  and  his  charge. 

The  fresh  air  helped  him  also,  and  partly  sobered  him,  so 
that  he  was  able  to  walk  steadily  and  quickly,  and  to  over- 
take speedily  the  man  he  was  pursuing. 

"  I  say,  look  here,  you  know !  Hold  on  !  I  want  to 
speak  to  you!"  he  said,  laying  his  hand  on  the  shoulder 
of  Fitzroy. 

"  Well,  fellow  !  well,  what  do  you  want  of  me  ?  "  grandly 
inquired  this  last  inebriate. 

"  Want  t'  know  what  dev'l  you  meant  by  the  words  y> 
used  in  reference  t'  my  sister?  " 

"Meant  what  I  said — that  a  gentleman  needn't  stand  on 
ceremony  with  such  as  she,"  doggedly  replied  Fitzroy. 

"  Look  here  !  I  say,  you  know  !  What  dev'l  d'  you  mean 
by  such  's  she?"  persisted  William,  following  him  up. 

"  I  mean  she's  only  a  very  common  person  !  Now  don't 
bore  me  about  your  worthless  sister  ! "  said  Fitzroy  scorn- 
fully. 

"You  false-tongued,  base  hound!"  exclaimed  William  in 
a  fury.  "  You  lie  like—" 

The  words  had  scarcely  left  his  lips  when  Fitzroy  wheeled 
around  and  struck  him  full  upon  the  mouth,  crying : 

"Take  that,  you  dog,  for  daring  to  insult  a  gentleman  !  " 

The  sting  of  that  blow  drove  the  already  infuriated  young 
man  to  perfect  frenzy.  He  drew  back  for  an  instant  and 
threw  himself  with  all  his  force  upon  his  assailant,  seizing 
him  by  the  throat  and  hurling  him.  with  violence  to  the 
ground. 


270  A      NOBLE     LORD. 

Fitzroy  fell  heavily,  struck  the  back  of  his  head  against 
the  sharp  corner  of  a  curb-stone,  quivered  for  a  few  seconds, 
and  then  lay  perfectly  still. 

And  all  this  happened  with  the  rapidity  of  lightning,  so 
that  Benjamin  Hurst  could  not,  if  he  would,  have  interfered 
to  prevent  the  catastrophe. 

"  Come  !  I  say  !  get  up  and  have  it  out  like  a  man  ! "  said 
Mr.  William  half  fearfully,  half  recklessly. 

Benjamin  Hurst  stooped  down  and  passed  his  hand  under 
the  back  of  the  man's  head  to  raise  it  from  the  curb-stone, 
but  quickly  withdrew  his  hand  and  gazed  upon  his  fingers 
in  consternation  and  sickening  horror. 

"  Come !  up  with  you,  if  you've  as  much  heart  as  a  hare, 
and  have  it  out  with  me  here  and  now ! "  repeated  Mr. 
William,  bending  over  the  fallen  man,  and  speaking  half 
in  dread  and  half  in  defiance. 

"  Mr.  William — 0  my  Lord  ! — he  will  never  get  up  any 
more,"  said  Benjamin,  in  awe. 

"Never  get —  What  the  devil  do  you  mean  ?"  inquired 
the  young  man,  almost  sobered. 

"  He  is  dead,  sir,"  solemnly  answered  Benny. 

"DEAD!"  wildly  exclaimed  William  Juniper,  his  face 
blanching,  his  chin  falling,  and  his  eyes  starting  with 
horror. 

"  Quite  dead ! "  answered  Benjamin,  with  a  shudder. 
"  The  back  of  his  head  is  crushed  upon  the  sharp  corner  of 
the  curb-stone.  Oh,  see  ! "  he  added,  exhibiting  his  hand 
stained  and  smeared  with  blood  and  brains. 

"  Oh,  my  Lord  !  my  Lord  !  Am  I  a  murderer  ?  Have  I 
lived  to  commit  a  murder,  and  to  perish  on  the  scaffold?" 
cried  William  Juniper,  wildly  wringing  his  hands  and 
gazing  in  horror  and  terror  upon  the  dead  man. 

"And  it  will  ruin  Suzy !  and  break  my  poor  mother's 
heart !  And  I  never  meant  to  kill  him.  Oh,  my  Lord  ! 
my  Lord !  what  shall  I  do  ?  what  shall  I  do  ?  "  he  cried, 
tearing  his  hair. 


THE    OUTCAST'S    LOVE.  271 

These  frantic,  despairing  words  brought  Benjamin  to  his 
senses. 

With  him,  to  think  quickly  and  act  promptly,  on  an 
emergency,  was  quite  natural. 

"  Mr.  William,"  he  said,  speaking  fast,  "  you  intend  go- 
ing to  Paris  on  your  sister's  business  to-morrow,  do  you 
not  ?  " 

"I  did.  But  where  shall  I  be  to-morrow?  In  Newgate 
probably  !  "  cried  the  }roung  man,  tearing  a  handful  of  hair 
from  his  head. 

"No  ;  go  now  !  hurry  !  fly !  You  have  just  time  to  catch 
the  mail  train  that  leaves  for  Dover  at  2:30,  to  meet  the 
early  steamer.  Fly,  Mr.  William,  for  Suzy's  sake !  You 
have  money  with  you  ?  " 

"  Yes —  No,  not  a  shilling !  "  answered  the  wretched 
young  man,  shaking. 

"  Take  my  pocket-book,  then !  Yes ;  there,  take  it ! 
This  is  no  time  for  hesitation  or  scruples.  That's  right. 
Now  fly !  I  hear  footsteps  coming  around  the  corner," 
breathlessly  spoke  Benjamin,  as  he  forced  his  porte-monnaie 
into  the  hands  of  the  half-frenzied  homicide,  and  hurried 
him  away. 

He  watched  him  cross  the  street,  and  turn  down  another 
leading  in  the  direction  of  the  Dover  railway  station. 

Then  Benjamin  turned  to  meet  his  fate. 


272  A      NOBLE      LORD. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

THE  OUTCAST'S  LAST  OFFERING. 

As  earth  pours  freely  to  the  sea 
Her  thousand  streams  of  wealth  untold, 

So  flows  my  silent  love  to  thee. 
Glad  that  it,s  very  sands  are  gold. — ANON. 

HE  thought,  with  pity  and  horror,  of  the  murdered  man  ; 
he  thought,  with  pity  and  terror,  of  Suzy's  brother;  with 
the  deepest  sorrow  and  anxiety,  of  Suzy  herself;  but  he 
never  once  thought  of  the  awful  peril  in  which  he  placed 
his  own  life  and  liberty. 

He  turned  to  face  the  approaching  footsteps. 

Two  policemen  came  around  the  corner  and  up  to  the 
fatal  spot. 

"  Now  then,  what  have  you  been  up  to?  "  demanded  the 
first  one,  stopping  short,  speaking  to  Benjamin,  but  looking 
down  upon  the  fallen  man. 

Benny  instantty  took  a  firm  resolution — to  give  no  infor- 
mation that  might  criminate  Suzy's  brother. 

"What's  all  this,  White?  A  man  dead  drunk?"  de- 
manded the.  second  officer,  coming  nearer,  and  turning  the 
bull's  eye  of  hia  lantern  full  upon  the  face  of  the  murdered 
man. 

"He  was  certainly  drunk  when  befell,"  replied  Benja- 
min truly,  but  incautiously. 

"  Fell  ?  "  echoed  the  first  man,  whom  his  companion  had 
addressed  by  the  name  of  White — "Fell,  do  you  say?" 
And  he  took  the  lantern  from  his  comrade,  and  stooped  and 
examined  the  body.  "This  man  never  fell  of  himself.  Here 
are  marks  of  violence  on  his  face  and  throat.  He  has  been 
knocked  down  and  probably  robbed,  and  seriously  injured. 
Hold  the  lantern  a  moment,  Sefton." 

The  second  officer  took  the  offered  light  and  held  it,  while 
the  first  one  knelt  down  to  raise  the  head  of  the  corpse; 


THE    OUTCAST'S    LAST    OFFERING.      273 

but  he  quickly  withdrew  his  hand,  gazed  at  it  in  curiosity, 
and  uttered  an  exclamation  of  consternation  and  horror. 
"  Heaven  and  earth,  here's  been  a  murder!     Secure  that 


man 


i " 


In  an  instant  Sefton  seized  Benny,  while  White  sprung 
his  alarm  rattle. 

"  You  need  not  take  so  much  trouble.  I  will  go  with  you 
quietly,  for  I  have  nothing  to  fear,  ll  did  not  kill  the  man," 
said  Benny. 

"  Then  of  course  you'll  be  all  right,  you  know.  But  we 
must  take  you  all  the  same ;  for  by  your  own  admission  you 
saw  him  fall,  for  you  know  you  told  us  he  was  drunk  when 
he  fell.  Now  you  see  he  didn't  fall.  The  marks  on  his 
face  and  throat  prove  that  he  was  knocked  down,  either  by 
you,  or  by  some  one  in  your  presence.  So  you  must  go 
along  with  us,  whether  to  be  considered  as  a  witness  or  a 
principal  the  magistrate  will  decide,"  said  Sefton,  keeping  a 
firm  hold  of  Benny's  arm. 

With  a  deep  sigh,  as  though  yielding  to  the  inexorable 
fate  that  pursued  him,  and  had  pursued  him  through  all  his 
life,  Benny  dropped  his  head  upon  his  breast  and  was  silent. 

Meanwhile  the  alarm  rattle  was  going  at  a  startling  rate; 
so  that  even  at  that  most  lonely  hoirr  of  the  morning  in  the 
streets,  two  o'clock  after  midnight,  a  small  crowd  began  to 
collect,  with  excited  faces  and  eager  inquiries : 

"  Hallo  ?  " 

"  What's  up  ?  " 

"  What's  the  row  ?  " 

"  Is  it  a  robbery  ?  " 

"Is  it  a  murder  ?" 

"  Who  is  killed  ?  " 

"  Who  did  it  ?  " 

"  How  did  it  happen  ?  " 

These  and  a  score  of  other  questions  were  all  asked  in  a 
breath  by  the  curious  crowd. 
17 


274  A     NOBLE      LORD. 

Policeman  White  told  all  he  knew  of  the  circumstances 
as  briefly  as  possible,  and  they  listened  as  well  as  they 
could  in  the  tumult. 

"  It  is  the  body  of  a  gentleman,"  said  one. 

"  Will  we  take  it  to  the  St.  James  ?  "  inquired  another. 

"No,"  said  Policeman  White.  "We  will  leave  it  just 
here  as  it  lies,  until  we  take  this  suspected  person  to  the 
station-house,  and  then  we'll  report  the  case  to  our  Sergeant 
and  take  his  orders  about  where  it  is  to  be  carried." 

And  then  he  beckoned  two  of  his  companions  of  the  force, 
and  ordered  them  to  guard  the  body,  while  he  and  his  com- 
rade Sefton  should  take  the  prisoner  to  the  station  and 
report  the  murder. 

Atid  then  Benjamin  Hurst  was  marched  off  between  two 
policemen  to  the  station-house  in  Little  Vine  street,  where, 
in  a  close,  ill-favored  office,  a  sleepy  Sergeant  sat  at  a  desk, 
with  three  or  four  sleepy  attendants  around  him. 

"  What  is  it,  White  ?  "  inquired  the  Sergeant. 

"  If  you  please,  sir,  a  gentleman,  name  and  person  still 
unknown  to  us,  found  murdered  out  here  in  Piccadilly," 
answered  the  policemen. 

"A  murder,  do  you  say?"  inquired  the  Sergeant,  waking 
up,  while  all  his  satellites,  startled  by  the  dreadful  word, 
roused  themselves  and  gathered  around  to  hear  the  par- 
ticulars. 

"  Yes,  sir,  a  murder  !  A  gentleman,  name  and  person  as 
yet  unknown  to  us,  found  murdered  out  here  on  the  pave- 
ment in  Piccadilly,"  repeated  the  officer. 

"Who  is  this  young  man  that  you  have  here  in  custody  ?  " 
inquired  the  Sergeant,  looking  with  curious  interest  at  the 
fair,  refined  face  of  the  prisoner. 

"If  you  please,  sir,  one  who  was  found  under  very  sus- 
picious circumstances  near  the  dead  body,  without  being 
able  to  give  any  satisfactory  account  of  his  being  there," 
answered  the  officer. 


THE    OUTCAST'S    LAST    OFFERING.     275 

"  Bring  him  forward,  and  state  the  whole  case,"  said  the 
Sergeant. 

The  policemen  led  Benny  up  to  the  desk,  and  while  the 
Sergeant  settled  himself  to  listen  attentively,  related  all 
the  circumstances  of  his  discovery  of  the  dead  body  ou  the 
sidewalk  in  Piccadilly. 

"  What  is  your  name,  young  man  ?  "  inquired  the  Ser- 
geant of  Benny,  when  the  officer  had  finished  his  story. 

"  Benjamin  Hurst,  sir,"  replied  the  young  prisoner. 

"Now  I  warn  you  that  you  need  not  say  a  word  to  crimi- 
nate yourself ;  but  if  you  can  say  anything,  and  prove  any- 
thing to  clear  yourself  from  suspicion,  you  had  better  do  so 
at  once." 

"  I  thank  you,  sir,"  said  Benny,  with  a  slight  bend  of 
the  head. 

"  Can  you,  then,  tell  us  anything  about  this  murder  ?  " 

"  No,  sir,  I  can  tell  you  nothing  about  it  except  this — 
that  I  certainly  did  not  kill  the  unfortunate  man,"  said 
Benny  earnestly. 

The  sergeant  of  police  listened  to  him,  looked  at  him 
and  believed  him,  but  had  to  do  his  stern  duty  nevertheless. 

"  If  you  can  prove  that  now  ?  "  he  began. 

"  I  cannot  prove  it,  sir,"  answered  Benny  resignedly,  as 
he  recognized  in  all  its  horror  the  full  import  of  the  awful 
sacrifice  he  was  about  to  make  to  save  the  life  of  Suzy's 
brother,  and  the  peace  of  Suzy's  mind. 

"  Can  you  not  explain  your  presence  on  the  premises  at 
the  time  of  the  murder  ?  " 

"  No,  sir,  I  cannot." 

"At  least  you  can  tell  whether  you  were  acquainted  with 
the  deceased." 

Benny  reflected  for  a  moment  as  to  whether  it  might  be 
safe  to  answer  this  simple  question ;  and  then  still  feeling 
doubtful  on  the  subject,  he  answered  civilly : 

"  If  you  please,  sir,  I  prefer  not  to  answer  any  more 
questions." 


27(3  A      NOBLE      LORD. 

"  You  may  be  right.  You  are  at  least  very  discreet. 
Yet  I  am  sorry  for  you,  for  we  shall  be  obliged  to  lock  yon 
up.  Officer,  remove  the  prisoner,"  said  the  Sergeant. 

Policeman  White  took  possession  of  Benny  to  lead  him 
away,  while  Policeman  Sefton,  coming  forward  and  touch- 
ing his  hat,  inquired : 

"  If  you  please,  sir,  what  is  to  be  done  with  the  body  of 
the  murdered  man  for  the  present?  There's  the  St.  James 
near  at  hand,  and  quite  convenient,  and  there's — " 

"  Have  the  body  brought  here  for  the  present.  The 
Inspector  will  be  here  soon.  And  the  coroner  must  be 
notified  immediately,"  said  the  sergeant. 

And  Policeman  Sefton  went  out  to  obey  these  orders, 
while  Policeman  White  conducted  Benny  to  a  lock-up  room 
occupied  by  five  or  six  other  prisoners,  and  secured  him  there 
for  the  night. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

LOVE'S     MARTYRDOM. 

Some  die,  that  some  may  live  ; 

Life — all  they  have  to  give. 

Some  weep,  that  some  may  smile; 

Some  lose,  that  some  may  gain ; 
And  count  it  good  the  while, 

And  welcome  all  the  pain. 
Some  freeze,  that  some  may  glow ; 

Some  starve,  that  some  may  feed  ; 
Some  plant,  that  some  may  mow; 

And  each  shall  get  his  meed  ; 
For  those  are  Christ's,  we  know, 

And  these  the  world's  indeed.— E.  D.  E,  N.  S. 

VERY  early  in  the  morning,  Benjamin  Hurst  was  brought 
from  the  station  house  to  the  police  court  for  examination. 

As  his  case  was  the  most  important  one,  it  was  the  first 
one  taken  up  by  the  sitting  magistrate. 

The  room  was  filled  with  the  usual  ill-looking  and  ill- 
favored  crowd  that  flock  to  such  places,  like  crows  to  a  battle- 
field. 


LOVE'S     MARTYRDOM.  277 

Besides  these,  there  were  nearer  to  the  magistrate's  bench 
a  few  police  officers,  with  their  prisoners,  and  a  few  news- 
paper reporters,  with  their  note-books. 

"  He  looks  more  like  a  missionary  than  a  murderer,"  said 
one  of  these  gentlemen  to  another,  as  they  gazed  at  the 
young  prisoner  in  his  suit  of  clerical  black  cloth,  and  with 
his  golden-haired  head  and  fair,  delicate  face  of  almost  girl- 
ish beauty. 

<l  Yes,  decidedly  more  like  a  missionary  than  a  murderer," 
emphatically  repeated  the  first  speaker,  making  a  note  of  his 
own  words,  which  that  afternoon  duty  appeared  in  the  papers. 

"  There's  nothing  in  a  prisoner's  looks.  Witness  Palmer, 
who  looked  more  like  a  philanthropist  than  a  poisoner,  didn't 
he  ?  "  inquired  the  second  speaker. 

The  first  one  apparently  considered  the  question  unan- 
swerable, since  he  never  answered  it. 

"  He  looks  astonishingly  like  the  Earl  of  Wellrose  ;  only 
not  in  such  high  health  as  his  lordship — thinner  and  paler," 
said  one. 

"  Yes  ;  like  his  lordship  might  look  after  a  spell  of  sick- 
ness," said  another. 

And  then  everybody  became  still,  because  the  examina- 
tion was  about  to  commence. 

Each  of  the  two  policemen  who  had  discovered  the  mur- 
dered man  and  arrested  the  supposed  murderer,  in  turn  gave 
in  his  report,  and  their  reports  corresponded  accurately. 

"  What  have  you  to  say  to  this  charge  ?  "  inquired  the 
magistrate,  sternly  regarding  the  prisoner. 

"Nothing,  your  Worship,  except  that  I  did  not  kill  the 
man,"  respectfully  replied  Benny. 

"  You  were  with  him  when  he  was  killed ;  you  saw  him 
fall ;  you  admitted  as  much  to  the  policeman  here." 

"  I  said  that  he  was  drunk  when  he  fell,"  Benny  amended. 

"  Then  you  saw  him  fall,  of  course  ;  and  it  appears  from 
the  marks  of  violence  upon  his  face  and  throat,  testified  to 


278  A      K  0  B  L  K      LORD. 

by  both  these  officers,  that  he  fell,  not  because  he  was  drunk, 
but  because  he  was  murderously  assaulted.  Now,  since  you 
saw  him  fall,  and  he  fell  by  assault,  you  yourself  must  have 
made  the  assault  or  seen  it  made.  Now  then,  if  you  your- 
self made  the  assault,  you  are  not  expected  to  criminate 
yourself  here  by  any  admission  of  the  fact.  If,  on  the  other 
hand,  you  did  not  make  it,  but  saw  it  made,  you  are  strongly 
advised  to  tell  all  you  know  about  it,  and  thus  save  your- 
self." 

"  I  did  not  assault  the  man,  your  Worship.  That  is  all  I 
have  to  say,"  replied  Benny. 

"  Then  I  shall  have  to  remand  you  to  prison  to  await  the 
issue  of  the  Coroner's  inquest,"  said  the  magistrate. 

And  Benjamin  Hurst  was  led  away. 

He  passed  in  charge  of  two  policemen,  pressing  their  way 
through  the  densest  crowd  that  had  ever  filled  that  room, 
and  out  into  Little  Vine  street,  now  thronged  with  a  vast 
multitude  of  people  gathered  together  and  attracted  to  the 
spot  by  the  astounding  report  of  the  murder  of  the  Honor- 
able Stuart  Fitzroy,  by  Benjamin  Hurst,  steward  in  the 
service  of  Mademoiselle  Arielle. 

These  assailed  the  prisoner  with  such  hoots  and  jeers  that 
he  was  glad  to  reach  the  privacy  of  his  prison  cell. 

Meanwhile  the  body  of  the  murdered  man  had  been  con- 
veyed to  a  room  in  the  station  house,  where  the  Coroner's 
inquest  was  to  be  held  upon  it  at  eleven  o'clock  that  morn- 
ing. 

And  meanwhile  Suzy  Juniper,  or  Mademoiselle  Arielle, 
over-fatigued  by  her  professional  and  social  duties  of  the 
evening  previous,  slept  long  and  sweetly,  in  blissful  uncon- 
sciousness that  her  brother  William  was  a  homicide  and  a 
fugitive  from  justice,  and  her  friend  Benny  a  prisoner 
charged  with  murder. 

The  news  of  the  tragedy  had  not  even  reached  the  little 
palace  in  Park  Lane  as  yet.  It  was  not  in  any  of  the 


LOVE'S      MARTYRDOM.  279 

moruing  papers,  for  they  had  all  gone  to  press  some  hours 
before  it  happened. 

Suzy  slept  on  very  sweetly  until  eleven  o'clock,  and  would 
have  slept  longer  still,  had  she  not  been  aroused  by  a  knock 
at  her  chamber  door. 

"  Who  is  that  ?  "   she  cried,  startled  and  bewildered. 

"  It  is  I,  Miss,"  answered  the  low  voice  of  her  house- 
keeper. 

"Mrs.  Brown!  Why,  what's  the  matter?  Come  in  !" 
cried  Suzy,  frightened,  she  scarcely  knew  why,  unless  it  was 
at  the  unprecedented  circumstance  of  being  suddenly  waked 
up  out  of  her  refreshing  morning  nap. 

The  housekeeper  entered  with  a  face  as  pale  as  death. 

"  I  should  not  have  disturbed  you,  Miss,  knowing  how 
needful  your  morning  rest  is,  if  it  had  not  been  for —  Oh 
Lord  !  how  shall  I  tell  you  ! "  exclaimed  the  matron,  clasp- 
ing her  hands. 

"  In  the  name  of  Heaven,  what  do  you  mean  ?  "  cried 
Suzy,  jumping  out  of  bed  in  great  alarm. 

"  Now  please  don't  be  frightened,  Miss  !  I  don't  know  as 
anything's  the  matter !  I  don't  indeed !  Please  don't  be 
frightened ! " 

"You're  frightened  yourself — unless  j-ou're  crazy! 
What  is  wanted,  then  ? "  demanded  Suzy,  changing  the 
form  of  her  question,  as  she  hastily  drew  on  a  dressing' 
gown. 

"  Why,  miss,  there's  a  person  down  stairs,  a  man  in  black, 
who  came  and  asked  to  see  you  on  most  important  business. 
And  when  I  told  him  it  was  a  rule  without  an  exception 
that  you  were  never  to  be  disturbed  until  you  rang  your 
bell,  and  that  you  hadn't  rung  it  yet,  he  replied  that  there 
must  be  an  exception  in  this  case,  for  that  he  must  see  you 
immediately  on  a  matter  of  life  and  death  which  could  not 
possibly  wait." 

"Is  that  all?     Bosh!      It  is  probably  some  poor  actor 


280  A     NOBLE      LORD. 

who  wants  an  engagement,  and  considers  it  a  matter  of  life 
or  death  whether  he  gets  it  or  not,  as  it  may  indeed  be  a 
matter  of  feeding  or  starving,"  added  Suzy,  with  a  sigh. 

"  I  hope  it's  no  worse,  miss." 

"I  will  see  the  poor  man.  Tell  him  so,  and  send  Jenny 
Smith  here  to  help  me  to  dress,"  said  Suzy. 

Mrs.  Brown  went  down  and  sent  the  dressing-maid  to 
her  mistress. 

Jenny  was  as  pale  and  scared  as  her  predecessor  had 
been. 

"  Have  you  seen  this  morning  visitor,  child  ?  "  inquired 
Suzy. 

"Yes,  miss,"  answered  the  maid,  in  a  trembling  voice. 

"  Now  what  is  there  in  the  poor  man  to  frighten  you  all 
so,  I  should  like  to  know  ?  " 

"  He  beant  a  poor  man,  miss.  And  he  do  look  so  solemn 
and  act  so  masterful,  let  alone  refusing  to  go  away  and  in- 
sisting on  seeing  you  immediate,  and  sitting  himself  down 
in  the  hall  as  if  the  house  belonged  to  him,  and  not  to  men- 
tion his  having  of  two  other  men  outside  awaiting  for  him." 

"  Two  other  men  outside  waiting  for  him,  Jenny  !  He 
may  be  a  hall  thief!  " 

"So  we  thought,  miss  ;  and  so  my  brother  Joe  is  staying 
there  watching  of  him." 

"Why  didn't  you  call  Mr.  William  ?  " 

"If  you  please,  Mr.  William  haven't  been  seen  about  the 
house  this  morning,  and  when  Joe  went  to  his  room,  he 
found  it  hadn't  been  slept  iu  at  all." 

"  Why,  that  is  very  strange !  Will,  never  stays  out  all 
night !  But —  Oh,  to  be  sure,  he  was  to  start  for  Paris 
this  morning,  and  probably  decided  to  take  an  earlier  train 
than  he  had  first  intended.  He  has  gone  to  Paris.  But 
why  didn't  you  call  Mr.  Hurst  to  see  this  importunate  per- 
son ?  Mr.  Hurst  was  the  proper  one  to  see  him,  after  all." 

"  Oh,  miss,"   said    the   little    maid,  beginning   to    weep, 


LOVE'S      MARTYRDOM.  281 

"  Mr.  Hurst  haven't  been   seen   this  morning  neither,  nor 
likewise  his  bed  not  slept  in  last  night." 

"Good  Heaven!"  exclaimed  Suzy,  turning  pale,  and 
now  fully  understanding  the  fright  of  the  housekeeper. 

"And  so,  miss,  what  with  Mr.  William  being  missing, 
and  Mr.  Hurst  being  missing,  and  this  solemn  man  in  black 
coming  and  taking  possession  of  the  house  and  ordering  of 
us  about,  and  insisting  on  seeing  of  you  immediate,  whether 
or  no,  me  and  Mrs.  Brown  do  be  so  knocked  over  as  we  don't 
know  whether  we  stand  on  our  head  or  our  heels." 

"  Something  has  happened,"  exclaimed  Suzy  with  sud- 
den energj',  as  she  sprang  to  her  feet  and  hurriedly  com- 
pleted her  toilet. 

"Come  with  me,  Jenny  Smith.  I  can't  face  that  man 
alone,  whoever  he  is,"  she  said,  as  she  left  the  room,  fol- 
lowed by  her  maid. 

In  the  passage  outside  she  met  Mrs.  Brown. 

"Why  did  you  not  tell  me  that  Mr.  William  and  Benja- 
min Hurst  were  missing  ?  "  demanded  Suzy. 

"  Oh,  miss,  I  did  not  like  to  overwhelm  you  with  all  the 
bad  news  at  once  ! "  said  the  housekeeper. 

"Lead  the  way  to  my  brother's  smoking-room,  Jenny, 
I  will  receive  the  man  there.  I  cannot  bear  the  idea  of 
having  him  into  one  of  my  own  rooms,  whoever  he  is,"  said 
Suzy. 

And  the  little  maid  ran  down  the  steps  before  her  mis- 
tress and  opened  the  door  of  a  smoking-room  on  the  first 
floor. 

"Now,  Jenny,  tell  Smith  to  show  the  man  in  here,  and 
do  you  come  too,"  said  Suzy,  throwing  herself  into  one  of 
her  brother's  arm-chairs. 

Jenny  ran  off  on  her  errand,  and  in  about  two  minutes 
returned,  soon  followed  by  a  footman,  who  opened  the  door 
and  announced : 

"  Mr.  Ketchum." 


282  A     NOBLE     LORD. 

Suzy  looked  up,  and  saw  before  her  a  stout,  elderly,  gray- 
haired  man  of  grave  appearance,  dressed  in  black. 

"  You  wished  to  see  me  on  important  business,  I  hear?  " 
inquired  Suzy. 

"  Yes,  Miss." 

"  Will  you  be  so  good  as  to  sit  down  and  state  your  busi- 
ness ?  " 

"  Yes,  Miss."  answered  Mr.  Ketchum,  taking  another 
arm-chair,  and  taking  his  time  about  it. 

"  Will  you  state  your  business  ?  "  repeated  Suzy. 

"  It  is  a  very  painful  one,  Miss.  Pardon  me  if  I  hesitat- 
ed to  mention  it  to  a  young  lady.  You've  heard  of  the 
murder  last  night,  or  early  this  morning  in  Piccadilly  ?  " 

"  MURDER  !  No  !  Heaven  !  Who's  murdered  ?  "  cried 
Suzy,  growing  pale  to  her  lips,  and  on  the  very  verge  of 
fainting. 

"  Don't  be  frightened,  Miss.  It's  no  one  akin  to  you,  as 
I'm  happy  to  say.  It  is  the  Honorable  Mr.  Stuart  Fitzroy, 
son  of  my  Lord  St.  Paul,  who  is,  unhappily,  now  travelling 
on  the  Continent." 

"  But,  Heaven  of  Heavens,  when  was  it  done  ?  How  did 
it  happen  ?  "  cried  Suzy,  clasping  her  hands  in  an  agony 
of  dread,  as  she  remembered  the  offensive  conduct  of  the 
deceased  on  the  preceding  evening. 

"  The  gentleman  was  murdered  in  Piccadilly,  about  two 
hours  after  midnight  this  morning." 

"  And  is — is — the  murderer  known  or  suspected  ?  "  gasp- 
ed Suzy. 

"I  beg  you  will  not  distress  yourself,  Miss,  particularly 
as  it  is  very  desirable  that  you  should  be  perfectly  cool  in 
giving  your  evidence  before  the  Coroner's  jury." 

"  Coroner's  jury !"  echoed  Suzy  faintly,  and  with  white 
lips. 

"  Of  course,  Miss.  I  am  here  with  a  subpoena  to  take 
you  as  a  witness  to  the  inquest.'' 


LOVE'S    MARTYRDOM.  283 

"I — I  know  nothing  about  it!  Great  Heavens  !  I  know 
nothing  about  it ! "  faintly  cried  Suzy,  shaking  as  with  an 
ague  fit. 

The  Inspector  went  coolly  to  a  little  open  cabinet  of 
liquors  that  stood  on  a  stand  in  a  corner  of  Mr.  William's 
room,  and  he  filled  a  small  glass  and  brought  it  to  her,  say- 
ing: 

"  Drink  this,  Miss,  and  try  to  brace  up  a  little.  I  know 
it  is  horrible  hearing  for  a  young  lady,  but  you,  personally? 
have  no  cause  for  distress." 

Suzy  took  the  glass  and  drank  the  cordial,  for  she  did  not 
want  to  faint,  and  was  really  on  the  verge  of  doing  so. 

"Tell  me  now,  I  implore  you.  Why  am  I  summoned  to 
give  evidence  in  what  I  know  nothing  of?  Who  is  the — 
Is  any  one  suspected  of  the  murder?  "  she  inquired,  some- 
what restored  by  the  cordial,  and  also  somewhat  encouraged 
by  the  Inspector's  words. 

"  There  was  a  young  man  taken  on  the  spot,  under  the 
most  suspicious  circumstances." 

"Who — who — who  was — ?"  faltered  Suzy,  still  scarcely 
able  to  breathe,  much  less  to  speak,  and  barely  able  to  keep 
from  fainting. 

"  The  young  man  who  is  charged  with  the  murder,  Miss, 
lias  been  in  your  service  for  several  mouths,  and  up  to  this 
time  when  he  is  in  jail.  His  name  is — " 

"Benjamin  Hurst!"  exclaimed  Suzy,  covering  her  face 
with  her  hands  and  groaning  in  anguish.  "Oh,  Ben  113' ! 
Benny  !  It  was  my  fault  again — mine  !  Oh,  Benny  !  my 
Benny  !  I  was  born  to  be  your  evil  genius  !  But  he  neve,', 
never  did  it,  sir!  He  never  did  it !  I  would  stake  my  life, 
my  soul,  upon  his  innocence  ! "  she  cried,  weeping  vehe- 
mently. 

"  He'll  have  a  fair  trial,  Miss,  and  if  innocent  will  be 
found  according.  But  with  respects,  I  think  you  are  de- 
ceived in  that  young  man.  May  be  you  don't  know — 


284  A      NOBLE     LORD. 

Ah  !  to  be  sure  yon  don't,  or  you  would  never  have  taken 
him  into  your  service.  But  we  have  been  looking  up  his 
record,  Miss,  and  have  found  out  that  he  is  a  returned  con- 
vict. Bless  you,  Miss,  he  was  one  of  the  worst  characters 
about  London  from  his  babyhood.  Lord  love  you,  Miss, 
why,  he  stole  as  soon  as  he  could  creep ;  lied  as  soon  as  he 
could  talk  ;  became  snakesman  to  a  gang  of  desperate  bur- 
glars when  he  was  but  ten  years  old,  and  ended  years  ago 
by  admitting  a  burglar  into  his  master's  house,  who  robbed 
the  house  and  nearly  murdered  a  visitor  who  was  staying 
there.  For  which  he  was  lagged  for  fourteen  years.  He 
had  just  served  his  time  out  and  returned,  when  you  took 
him  into  your  service.  How  he  ever  got  into  a  respectable 
house,  is  a  wonder  to  all.  It  must  have  been  by  a  forged 
recommendation,  or  a  false  character,  as  it  is  called,  Miss?  " 
said  the  Inspector  interrogatively. 

Suzy  did  not  answer  him  ;  she  could  not,  she  was  sobbing 
BO  convulsively. 

"  Don't  take  it  so  hard,  Miss;  although  of  course  I  know 
it  is  hard  to  discover  that  you  have  been  harboring  in  your 
house  a  returned  convict,  who  might  at  any  time  have  robbed 
the  premises  and  murdered  the  inmates." 

Suzy,  who  had  been  trj'ing  to  speak  for  some  time  now 
burst  forth  with  the  energy  lent  by  rage. 

"  Hold  your  slandering  tongue  !  "  she  fiercely  exclaimed, 
forgetting  the  decorum  of  the  palace,  and  falling  back  upon 
the  manners  of  Junk  Lane. 

"  Ever}'  word  you  speak  against  Benny  is  a  lie,  and  worse 
than  a  lie — cruel  injustice  !  " 

"  Really,  really,  Miss,"  began  the  astounded  Inspector, 
"thfs  is  very  extraordinary  language — actionable,  in  fact." 

"  I  don't  care  if  it  is  ;  it  is  true,  every  word  of  it.  I  know 
all  about  Benjamin  Hurst.  I  know  him  better  than  any- 
body in  the  whole  world  knows  him.  And  I  have  known 
him  from  the  time  when  we  were  babies  in  rags  together. 


LOVE'S     MARTYRDOM.  285 

And  I  know  that  he  was  unjustly  convicted  fourteen  years 
ago,  and  I  am  sure  that  he  is  unjustly  accused  now.  '  Stole 
as  soon  as  he  could  creep,'  did  he  ?  '  Lied  as  soon  as  he 
could  speak,'  you  say  ?  If  lie  did,  he  was  taught  to  do  both. 
Some  very  young  children  do  hoth  without  being  taught. 
It  comes  natural  to  them.  They  require  to  be  taught  not  to 
steal,  and  not  to  lie.  And  who  ever  said  to  that  poor,  gentle 
child,  '  Benny,  it  is  a  sin  to  lie  ;  it  is  a  sin  to  steal  ?  '  No 
one  ever  did.  Oh,  you  law  officers,  with  the  law-makers  at 
your  backs,  you  are  a  precious  set  of  impostors,  you  are  ! — 
fools  or  knaves,  I  don't  know  which.  For,  look  you,  what 
fools  you  are  not  to  use  the  'ounce  of  prevention/  which  is 
so  much  better  than  the  '  pound  of  cure ;  '  not  to  teach  the 
child  to  be  honest  and  truthful,  to  save  the  trouble  and  ex- 
pense of  trying  and  convicting  and  punishing  the  young 
criminal !  not  to  build  many  cheap  little  infant  schools,  to 
save  the  enormous  cost  of  keeping  up  your  fortress-like 
prisons,  and  all  the  paraphernalia  of  criminal  law  !  And 
•what  knaves,  to  punish  such  neglected  and  ignorant  outcasts 
of  society,  when  you  should  all — law  officers,  law  makers, 
judges,  juries,  Lords  and  Commons — scourge  your  own  backs 
till  you  faint,  for  your  sins  against  the  poor  children,  who 
are  so  completely  in  your  power  to  make  them  good  or  bad  !  " 

"  Eeally,  really,  really.  Miss,"  began  the  Inspector,  per- 
ceiving that  Suzy  had  stopped  from  mere  want  of  breath  to 
go  on — "  really  this  is  very  intemperate  language." 

"  Call  this  a  Christian  and  civilized  nation,  indeed  !  "  con- 
tinued Suzy,  recovering  her  breath,  and  taking  not  the 
slightest  notice  of  the  Inspector's  interruption.  "  Call  this 
a  Christian  and  civilized  country,  where  Benny  was,  and 
thousands  upon  thousands  of  innocent  children  like  him  are, 
left  to  bear  cold  and  hunger  and  nakedness  and  disease  in 
dens  of  guilt  and  misery,  where  they  are  taught  '  oaths  for 
prayers  '  and  '  sins  for  duty  ?  '  " 

"  Miss,  I  bog  your  pardon."    said  the  Inspector,  rising 


1186  A      NOhLE     LOKD. 

hastily,  "  but  1  liave  a  duty  to  perform  here,  which  I  shall 
set  about  immediately.  I  hope  1  shall  meet  uo  opposition  in 
the  discharge  of  my  office." 

"  It  is  a  grim  joke,"  continued  Suzy,  referring  to  the 
boasted  civilization  and  Christianity  of  the  age.  Then 
turning  to  the  Inspector,  she  answered  him  :  "  Certainly  you 
will  receive  no  opposition  in  the  discharge  of  your  duty.  If 
I  cannot  set  the  law  right,  I  will  not  break  its  conditions. 
My  brother  is,  unluckily,  in  Paris,  on  my  business ;  but  my 
servants  will  render  you  every  assistance,"  said  Suzy,  reach- 
ing her  hand  to  the  bell-pull. 

"  Stay,  Miss,  one  moment.  We  have  ascertained,  from  a 
respectable  cabman  who  voluntarily  came  forward  to  give  the 
information,  that  he,  the  said  cabman,  drove  your  brother 
and  the  deceased  from  Covent  Garden  Theatre  to  this 
house,  between  the  hours  of  ten  and  eleven,  last  night,  and 
was  dismissed  at  the  door,  where  he  left  them.  It  appears 
that  that  unfortunate  deceased  spent  the  remainder  of  the 
evening  here,  and  was  on  his  way  home  when  the  fatal 
assault  was  made  upon  him.  He  was  next  found  dead  in 
Piccadilly,  with  this  Benjamin  Hurst  standing  over  him." 

Suzy  sickened  at  the  words,  as  she  reflected  that  she  her- 
self had  sent  the  unfortunate  young  man  to  attend  Mr. 
Stuart  Fitzroy  to  his  home. 

"Therefore,  you  see,  miss,  I  shall  have  to  summon  all  the 
servants  in  the  house  as  witnesses,  to  testify  as  to  what 
occurred  here  last  evening.  I  shall  also  have  to  examine 
the  room  and  effects  of  this  man  Hurst,  and  I  have  brought 
with  me  a  search-warrant  for  the  purpose." 

"Very  well;  you  roust  do  your  duty,  I  suppose,"  she 
said,  in  a  dying  voice,  as  she  stretched  out  her  hand  and 
pulled  the  bell-rope. 

Smith  answered  the  summons. 

"  Tell  Jones  to  order  my  brougham  immediately.  I  am 
going  out.  And  do  you  return  here  and  show  this  person 
to  Mr.  Hurst's  room,"  said  Suzy. 


LOVE'S     MARTYRDOM.  £87 

Then,  with  a  slight  bow  to  the  detective,  she  beckoued 
Jenny  Smith  to  attend  her,  and  left  the  room  to  prepare  for 
her  painful  attendance  at  the  coroner's  inquest. 

"  For  goodness'  sake,  miss,  take  a  cup  of  coffee  before  you 
go  out !  Remember  that  you  have  had  no  breakfast,"  said 
Jenny  Smith,  anxiously. 

"  Breakfast !  I  never  thought  of  it.  Well,  bring  me  a 
cup  of  strong  coffee.  Perhaps  I  had  better  take  it  before  I 
go,"  sighed  Suzy. 

"  And  something  with  it,  miss  ?  " 

"No;  I  could  not  swallow  a  morsel.  It  would  choke 
me,"  said  Suzy,  bursting  into  tears. 

Jenny  Smith  left  the  room,  and  speedily  returned  with  a 
cup  of  strong  arid  fragrant  Mocha,  which  her  mistress  drank 
with  feverish  eagerness. 

"  You  must  come  with  me,  Jenny.  I  cannot  go  to  that 
horrid  place  without  a  woman's  attendance.  And  I  would 
rather  have  you,  Jenny,  than  Mrs.  Brown.  Go,  and  get 
ready  as  quickly  as  you  can,"  said  Suzy,  as  she  put  down 
her  empty  cup  and  drew  on  her  gloves. 

The  girl,  eager  to  go  to  a  scene  of  such  intense  interest 
and  excitement  as  a  coroner's  inquest  on  the  body  of  a 
murdered  man,  and  that  man  Mr.  Stuart  Fitzroy,  went  out 
quickly,  and  soon  returned  dressed,  to  attend  her  mistress. 

The  young  lad}'  and  her  maid  went  down  stairs  to  Mr. 
William's  room,  to  await  the  return  of  the  Inspector. 

He  came  at  length. 

"  Well,  have  you  found  anything  in  Benjamin  Hurst's 
possession  likely  to  criminate  him  ?  "  sarcastically  inquired 
Suzy,  with  a  curl  of  her  lip. 

"Not  much.  I.  have  found  a  richly  embroidered  infant's 
sack  and  a  little  sock  or  shoe,  neither  of  which  would  seern 
to  be  the  rightful  property  of  this  young  man.  Therefore  I 
have  taken  possession  of  them  for  the  present,  as  they  may 
lead  to  something,"  said  the  Inspector,  producing  the  arti- 
cles and  exhibiting  them  to  Suzy. 


288  A      NOBLE     LORD. 

She  took  them,  and  looked  at  them  in  surprise  and  curi- 
osity. She  too  saw  the  crest  of  the  Barons  of  Seton-Lin- 
lithgow  embroidered  among  the  eglantine  leaves,  and  she 
suddenly  recollected  the  conversation  she  had  held  with 
Benny,  when  he  had  inquired  of  her  whether  there  were  any 
family  connection  between  the  Cheviots  and  the  Seton-Lin- 
lithgows.  And  she  thought,  with  a  strange  thrill  of  emo- 
tion, about  the  wonderful  likeness  existing  between  the  Earl 
of  Wellrose  and  the  poor  outcast,  Benjamin  Hurst;  and  of 
the  agitation  betrayed  by  the  Duchess  of  Cheviot  years  ago, 
when,  with  her  son  the  Earl,  she  had  stood  by  the  bed  of 
the  poor  unknown  outcast  in  the  children's  ward  of  the 
Middlesex  Hospital;  and  now  of  these  relics  found  in  Ben- 
jamin's possession  !  What  on  earth  did  it  all  mean  ?  Was 
possibly  this  poor  outcast  the  unacknowledged  brother  of 
the  Earl  ?  Oh,  no,  no,  no,  that  could  never  be  !  The  high, 
pure,  noble  nature  of  both  the  Duke  and  Duchess  of  Che- 
viot forbade  the  injurious  thought.  What  did  it  all  mean 
then  ?  she  asked  herself,  as  she  gazed  upon  the  relics. 

She  was  roused  from  her  reverie  by  the  voice  of  the  In- 
spector. 

"  We  must  be  going,  miss,  if  you  please.  The  inquest  is 
already  in  session." 

Suzy  started,  and  handed  back  the  little  sack  and  shoe  to 
the  officer,  murmuring : 

"Yes,  they  may  indeed  lead  to  something." 

She  then  turned  and  told  Jenny  Smith  to  see  if  the 
brougham  was  at  the  door. 

It  was  reported  to  be  waiting. 

"  Your  housekeeper  will  have  to  accompany  you,  miss. 
She  is  also  summoned  as  a  witness.  I  took  the  liberty  of 
telling  her  to  get  ready  as  quickly  as  she  could.  And  here 
she  comes,"  said  the  Inspector,  as  Mrs.  Brown,  bonneted 
and  shawled,  and  very  much  frightened,  entered  the  room. 

"  Smith  and  Jones,  who  have  been  subpoenaed  to  attend 


WHAT     THE      SACRIFICE     COST.  289 

the  inquest,  will  follow  iu  charge  of  one  of  my  men.  And 
now,  if  you  please,  miss,"  said  the  Inspector,  as  he  politely 
escorted  Suzy  and  her  attendants  to  the  door,  and  placed 
them  in  the  carriage. 

He  then  mounted  to  a  seat  on  the  box,  and  directed  the 
coachman  to  drive  to  the  police  station  house,  Little  Vine 
street,  Piccadilly. 


CHAPTEE  XXX. 

WHAT   THE   SACRIFICE    COST. 

It  is  my  life  at  thy  feet  I  throw. — BROWNING. 

As  the  carriage  turned  from  Piccadilly  into  Little  Vine 
street,  the  crowd  was  so  thick  that  the  coachman  could 
scarcely  drive  through  without  running  over  some  one. 

The  news  of  the  murder  had  not  yet  had  time  to  get  into 
the  afternoon  papers,  but  it  had  spread  far  and  wide,  so  that 
half  the  West  End  seemed  to  be  crowding  into  Piccadilly 
toward  Little  Vine  street. 

As  the  carriage  drew  up  before  the  police  station  house, 
the  crowd  so  blockaded  the  sidewalk  that  the  police  officers 
were  obliged  to  open  the  way  before  the  witnesses  could 
alight  and  enter. 

The  Inspector  got  off  the  box  and  opened  the  door  for 
them,  and  when  Suzy  and  her  companions,  both  closely 
vailed,  alighted,  he  gravely  escorted  them  into  the  station 
house,  and  to  the  room  where  the  coroner's  inquest  was 
being  held. 

It  was  held  with  closed  doors,  guarded  by  policemen,  so 
that  the  room  when  they  entered  it  was  not  at  all  crowded. 

Here  at  last  was  breathing  space.  But,  ah !  what  a 
scene ! 

18 


290  A      NOBLE      LORD. 

In  the  middle  of  the  room  stood  a  long  table,  and  upon 
it  lay  the  body  of  the  murdered  man,  covered  with  a  black 
pall.  At  the  head  of  this  ghastl}7  table  sat  the  coroner,  a 
grave,  gray-haired  man  of  some  sixty  years.  At  the  foot  sat 
the  assistant  coroner,  and  on  each  side  of  the  table  sat  six 
jurymen. 

At  a  smaller  table  or  stand  near  the  coroner's  right  hand, 
eat  a  clerk  with  writing  materials  before  him. 

At  other  stands  or  tables  here  and  there,  sat  other  officers 
engaged  in  the  inquest,  and  also  the  reporters  of  the  press. 

Along  the  walls,  on  benches,  sat  the  witnesses  summoned 
on  the  investigation,  and  also  a  few  privileged  spectators. 

It  appeared  that  many  witnesses  had  alread}7  been  exam- 
ined :  to  wit,  the  policemen  who  had  discovered  the  body  of 
the  murdered  man,  and  the  surgeons  who  had  performed 
the  autopsy. 

And  now  Benjamin  Hurst  had  been  brought  from  his 
prison  cell,  and  was  up  for  examination. 

Suzy  seemed  to  see  him,  and  only  him,  as  the  Inspector 
gravely  conducted  her  and  her  attendants  to  seats  among 
the  witnesses. 

Benny  was  standing  before  the  coroner,  undergoing  a 
severe  cross-examination. 

He  was  deadly  pale,  without  a  vestige  of  color  in  his  fair, 
pure  face ;  but  he  was  perfectly  firm  and  steadfast — as  one 
who  had  made  up  his  mind  to  a  complete  sacrifice  of  him- 
self, and  felt  all  the  horror  of  its  conditions. 

The  coroner  having  told  him  that  he  was  already  proved 
to  have  been  with  the  dead  man  at  the  time  of  his  death, 
demanded  that  he  should  inform  the  jury  how  that  death 
came  about. 

All  listened  for  his  reply,  but  none  so  intently  as  Suzy. 
She  clasped  her  hands  together,  and  gazed  at  him  with  an 
intensity  of  interest  that  seemed  to  cause  him  to  turn  and 
meet  her  eyes.  And  then  for  the  first  time  he  was  aware 
of  her  presence  iu  the  room. 


WHAT      THE      SACRIF1 C  E     COST.  291 

He  met  that  intense  gaze,  and  utterly  misunderstood  its 
meaning.  She  was  only  silently  beseeching  him  to  be 
cautious  how  he  answered,  and  to  say  nothing  to  criminate 
himself.  But  he  thought  that  she  was  imploring  him  to 
screen  her  brother,  and  his  resolution  was  strengthened  to 
do  so,  even  at  the  sacrifice  of  his  own  life. 

He  answered  the  coroner  as  he  had  answered  others,  truly. 

"  The  man  fell  while  he  was  drunk,  and  striking  his  head 
upon  the  corner  of  the  curb-stone,  killed  himself." 

"  He  fell  because,  as  has  been  proved  by  the  post-mortem 
examination,  he  was  knocked  down  with  great  violence. 
You  must  have  done  it,  or  seen  who  did  it.  If  you  did  it, 
you  are  not  expected  to  criminate  yourself  here,  by  confess- 
ing ;  if,  however,  you  did  not  do  it,  but  saw  who  did,  you 
may  clear  yourself  from  suspicion  by  denouncing  the  mur- 
derer." 

"  I  did  not  do  it.  I  have  no  more  to  say,"  answered 
Bonn}'. 

"  You  deny  having  committed  this  murder.  Can  you 
also  deny  having  seen  it  committed  ?  " 

Benny  was  perfectly  silent. 

The  question  was  repeated. 

"  I  have  said  that  I  have  nothing  more  to  tell  your 
Worship,  and  I  have  nothing  more,"  he  repeated. 

"You  have  said  enough.  Stand  aside,"  ordered  the 
coroner. 

The  officer  who  had  Benny  in  charge  withdrew  him. 

Suzy  was  next  called  and  sworn,  and  examined  as  to  the 
hour  that  the  deceased  had  left  her  house  on  the  preceding 
evening ;  the  state  that  he  was  in  ;  and  whether  he  left 
alone  or  in  company,  and  if  so,  with  whom. 

Now  if  Suzy  had  not  been  on  her  guard,  she  must  have 
told  much  that  would  have  gone  far  to  convict  Benny.  For 
she  might  have  told  how,  before  leaving  the  supper-room 
that  night,  she  had  ordered  Benny  to  attend  Mr.  Stuart 
Fitzroy  to  his  home. 


292  A      NOBLE      LORD. 

But  she  was  on  her  guard,  for  Benny's  sake,  and  so  she 
baffled  investigation  by  confining  herself  to  answering  in 
the  fewest  possible  words  the  questions  that  were  put  to  her. 

"  The  deceased  supped  with  you  last  night  ?  " 

«  Yes." 

"  What  occurred  at  the  supper  ?  " 

"  He  got  drunk." 

"  Then  he  was — drunk  when  he  left  the  house  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  so." 

"  At  what  hour  did  he  leave  ?  " 

'  I  don't  know." 

"  You  don't  know  ?  " 

"No." 

"  How  is  that?     He  was  your  own  guest." 

"  When  I  saw  his  condition  I  left  the  supper-room.  I 
never  saw  him  in  life  again." 

"  A  moment,  Miss,"  said  the  coroner,  as  poor,  inexperi- 
enced Suzy  made  as  if  she  would  have  sat  down.  "  We 
have  not  quite  done  with  you  yet.  Do  you  know  of  any 
cause  of  quarrel  or  enmity  between  the  deceased  gentleman 
and  your  butler,  Benjamin  Hurst  ?  " 

"  Of  none  whatever.  They  had  not  even  a  speaking 
acquaintance,  so  far  as  I  know.  It  is  not  likely.  Benja- 
min Hurst  is  a  pure,  truthful  and  honest  man  ;  and  the 
deceased  is,  or  was — what  his  reputation  represents  him," 
said  Suzy,  departing  from  her  rule  of  short  answers,  just  so 
soon  as  she  got  a  chance  to  defend  Benny. 

"  You  may  sit  down,  Miss,"  said  the  coroner. 

And  so  Suzy  withdrew,  and  was  succeeded  by  her  house- 
keeper, Mrs.  Brown,  who  was  the  next  witness. 

Being  put  upon  her  oath  and  questioned  to  that  effect, 
she  said  that  her  name  was  Martha  Brown,  and  that  she 
now  lived  at  No.  — ,  Park  Lane,  as  housekeeper  and  com- 
panion to  Miss  Juniper,  who  was  professionally  known  as 
Mademoiselle  Arielle. 


WHAT     THE      SACRIFICE      COST.  293 

"  You  are  something  of  a  chaperone  or  duenna  also  to  the 
last  witness,  are  you  not?  " 

"  Yes,  sir  ;  if  your  worship  thinks  fit  to  call  me  so." 

"  You  are,  then,  usually  present  at  her  little  suppers  ?  " 

"Yes,  sir." 

"  You  were  present  last  night,  when  Mr.  Stuart  Fitzroy 
supped  with  her  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  Who  else  was  present  ?  " 

"  Mr.  William  Juniper  and  the  servants  ;  no  others." 

"What  occurred?" 

"  Mr.  Stuart  Fitzroy  drank  much  more  wine  than  was 
good  for  him,  and  behaved  in  such  an  ungentlemanly  man- 
ner that  Miss  Juniper  and  myself  left  the  table,  and  also  the 
room." 

"  And  then  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  know  what  happened  after  we  left." 

"  You  may  sit  down." 

Mrs.  Brown  retired  and  Suzy  breathed  freely.  She  had 
been  intensely  anxious  lest  it  should  come  out  in  Mrs. 
Brown's  examination  that  she,  Suzy,  had  sent  Benny  home 
with  Mr.  Fitzroy. 

But  her  relief  was  not  long.  Her  heart  seemed  to  stand 
still  again  when  the  name  of  Joseph  Smith  was  called,  and 
her  first  footman  took  the  stand. 

This  witness,  being  sworn  and  questioned,  said  that  his 
name  was  Joseph  Smith  and  that  he  lived  at  No.  — ,  Park 
Lane,  as  footman  in  the  service  of  Miss  Juniper.  He  cor- 
roborated every  part  of  the  testimony  given  by  the  two  last 
witnesses  as  to  the  little  supper  party,  the  wine  drinking, 
and  the  intoxication  and  ungentlemanly  deportment  of  Mr. 
Fitzroy. 

Then  the  coroner  inquired: 

"  What  was  the  nature  of  this  ungentlemanly  deportment 
of  which  you  speak  ?  " 


294  A      NOBLE      LORD. 

"Profane  language  at  the  table,  sir.  And  when  Miss 
Juniper  and  Mrs.  Brown,  in  consequence,  got  up  to  leave  the 
room,  he  seized  Miss  Juniper  around  the  waist,  and  tried  to 
force  her  back  against  her  will." 

"  Did  her  brother  resent  this  rudeness  to  his  sister  ?  "  in- 
quired a  juryman,  who  had  been  very  attentively  listening 
to  the  testimony. 

"No  sir;  he  laughed,  and  sided  with  Mr.  Fitzroy;  and 
told  his  sister  not  to  be  a  fool." 

"  What !  How  was  that  ?  "  inquired  the  same  juryman, 
in  some  surprise. 

''Well,  you  see,  sir,  Mr.  William  wouldn't  have  behaved 
so,  if  he  too  hadn't  been  some'at  the  worse  for  the  wine 
he'd  drank." 

"  Ah  !  so  he  was  drunk  also  ?  " 

"  Well,  sir,  since  you  put  it  so,  and  I  am  on  my  oath,  I 
must  say  he  was" 

"  And  so  this  man  was  allowed  to  insult  his  hostess  with 
impunity  ?  " 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir  ?  "  said  the  witness  interroga- 
tively, and  not  understanding. 

"Did  no  one  interfere  to  save  the  young  lady  from  in- 
sult?" inquired  the  juryman,  changing  the  style  of  hia 
question. 

"  Well,  sir,  no  one  but  Mr.  Hurst.  He  did.  As  soon  as 
he  saw  Mr.  Fitzroy  seize  her  around  the  waist,  he  sprang 
forward  and  made  as  if  he  would  have  knocked  him  down. 
But  before  he  got  round  the  table,  Miss  Juniper  had  got 
free,  and  she  ordered  him — " 

"  Ordered  whom  ?  "  inquired  the  Coroner. 

"  She  ordered  Mr.  Hurst  to  get  Mr.  Fitzroy's  hat  and 
put  it  on  his  head,  and  take  him  home,  as  lie  was  no  more 
capable  of  taking  care  of  himself  than  he  was  of  behaving 
decent,  she  said." 

"  Ah  !  and  what  happened  next  ?" 


WHAT     THE      SACRIFICE      COST.  295 

"  Miss  Juniper  and  Mrs.  Brown  left  the  room.  And  Mr. 
Hurst  started  out  with  Mr.  Fitzroy,  to  take  him  home." 

"  You  know  that  for  a  fact  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir;  I  let  them  out." 

"And  how  did  Mr.  William  Juniper  then  conduct  him- 
self?" 

"  We  left  him  smoking  and  drinking,  sir.  And  saw  no 
more  of  him.  But  I  knew  that  he  was  going  to  Paris  by  an 
early  train  this  morning,  and  I  heard  he  had  gone." 

"  Do  you  know  that  he  went  ?  " 

"Not  of  my  own  knowledge,  sir;  but  I  know  he  made 
arrangements  to  go  yesterday.  And  the  general  impression 
about  the  house  is  that  he  went." 

Joseph  Smith  was  permitted  to  withdraw.  And  Aaron 
Jones  was  called  to  the  stand,  who  corroborated  every  word 
of  the  last  witness'  testimony. 

It  was  done  !  All  that  Suzy  dreaded  had  happened. 
Benjamin  Hurst  was  all  but  proved  to  have  murdered 
Stuart  Fitzroy. 

Pale  as  marble  and  as  firm,  Benny  said  to  himself: 

"Her  brother  is  saved,  and  I — I  can  die  for  her  peace." 

Suzy  burst  into  a  storm  of  sobs  and  tears,  and  had  to  be 
led  from  the  room. 

But  she  refused  to  go  home ;  and  still  attended  by  Mrs. 
Brown  and  Jenny  Smith,  she  sat  in  her  carriage  outside  to 
await  the  news  of  the  verdict. 

That  Benny  never  committed  that  murder,  and  that  he 
was  shielding  the  real  criminal,  she  felt  sure.  But  who  was 
that  criminal  for  whom  he  was  sacrificing  his  life  ?  A 
horrible  suspicion  whispered  that  it  was  no  other  than  her 
own  brother. 

She  sat  and  wept,  refusing  to  be  comforted,  until  a  great 
commotion  in  the  crowd  outside  the  police  station  house 
advised  her  that  the  verdict  of  the  coroner's  inquest  had 
been  rendered. 


296  A      NOBLE      LORD. 

It  was  soon  proclaimed  from  one  to  another  throughout 
the  crowded  streets.  It  was  to  the  effect  that  the  deceased 
had  met  his  death  at  the  hands  of  Benjamin  Hurst. 

The  uproar  of  the  streets  at  the  announcement  of  this 
verdict  was  perfectly  terrific. 

Mrs.  Brown  was  frightened,  and  she  Implored  Suzy  to 
order  the  coachman  to  drive  home. 

But  Suz}',  through  her  storm  of  sobs  and  tears,  declared 
that  she  would  wait  to  see  the  poor  boy  brought  out  on  his 
way  to  Newgate,  so  that  she  might  speak  to  him,  and  assure 
him  of  her  love  and  trust  and  entire  sympathy. 

But  ah  !  she  waited  in  vain.  She  could  not  see  or  speak 
to  him,  for  presently  one  of  her  footmen  came  to  the 
carriage  door,  and  touching  his  hat,  said : 

"  There  he  goes,  Miss  ! " 

"  Who  ?  Where  ?  "  inquired  Suzy,  looking  around  and 
seeing  no  one  that  she  knew. 

"  The  prisoner,  Mr.  Hurst,  Miss,  locked  up  in  that  ugly 
wehicle  as  looks  like  a  tall  hearse,  and  called  the  Black 
Maria.  He's  committed  to  Newgate  jail  to  wait  his  trial 
for  wilful  murder.  Shall  I  tell  the  coachman  to  drive  home, 
Miss  ?  » 

"Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Brown,  taking  upon  herself  to  answer, 
for  Suzy  had  fallen  back  in  her  seat,  totally  overcome  by 
distress. 

She  was  taken  home  and  laid  upon  her  bed. 

And  that  night  the  manager  of  the  Covent  Garden 
theatre  had  to  come  before  the  curtain  and  make  the  best 
apology  he  could  for  the  non-appearance  of  Mademoiselle 
Arielle. 

And,  in  a  word,  she  never  appeared  upon  that  stage 
again. 


THE      LOST      STAR.  297 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

THE    LOST    STAB. 

Like  the  lost  Pleiad,  seen  no  more  below. — BYRON. 

Could'st  thou  be  shaken  from  thy  radiant  place, 
Even  as  a  dew-drop  from  the  myrtle  spray, 
Swept  by  the  wind  away  ?— HEMANS. 

"MADEMOISELLE  AKIELLE"  was  never  seen  on  the 
stage  again. 

The  shock  of  Stuart  Fitzroy's  tragic  death,  and  Benjamin 
Hurst's  committal  on  the  charge  of  murder^  utterly  pros- 
trated her  nervous  system. 

She  held  herself  and  her  beautiful  art  in  a  great  degree 
accountable  for  the  calamities  that  had  occurred. 

If  she  had  never  been  an  opera  singer,  she  reasoned 
Stuart  Fitzroy  would  never  have  seen  and  admired  her,  and 
sought  her  acquaintance,  and  been  her  guest,  and  left  her 
house  in  the  charge  of  Benjamin  Hurst,  who  then- would 
never  have  been  committed  for  his  murder. 

As  these  thoughts  pierced  her  heart  like  sword  blades, 
suddenly  the  theatre,  with  all  its  allurements  became  utterly 
hateful  to  her.  And  she  longed  to  leave  her  brilliant  pub- 
lic career,  and  to  find  peace  in  the  privacy  of  domestic  life, 
if  only  Benny  were  free — ah,  if  only  Benny  were  free  and 
out  of  all  danger  ! 

For  whom  was  Benny  offering  up  his  life  now  ?  she  asked 
herself,  as  she  lay  prostrate  on  her  bed. 

She  feared  it  was  for  her  brother. 

And  yet  that  could  scarcely  be,  she  thought;  for  she 
remembered  that  when  she  had  seen  her  brother  and  Stuart 
Fitzroy  together,  scarcely  an  hour  before  the  death  of  the 
latter,  they  had  been  good  friends,  and  also  that  the  evi- 
dence before  the  coroner's  jury  had  proved  that  Stuart  Fitz- 
roy had  left  the  house  in  the  charge  of  Benjamin  Hurst, 


298  A      NOBLE      LORD. 

and  that  they  had  left  her  brother  alone  at  the  table  over 
his  wine. 

Therefore  she  concluded  that  it  could  not  be  her  brother 
for  whom  Benny  was  sacrificing  himself. 

For  whom,  then  ? 

She  could  not  even  conjecture. 

She  longed  to  go  to  the  prison  to  see  him,  and  to  gain  his 
confidence,  so  that  she  might  save  him,  or  persuade  him  to 
save  himself;  but  ah  !  the  shocks  of  the  preceding  day,  and 
the  anguish  of  the  night,  had  left  her  on  this  second  morn- 
ing so  utterly  prostrated  that  she  could  scarcely  stand. 

She  had,  indeed,  arisen  from  her  bed,  and  attempted  to 
dress  herself;  but  in  the  process  she  had  so  nearly  fainted 
as  to  be  compelled  to  lie  down  and  rest  on  the  sofa  of  her 
boudoir. 

It  was  while  she  was  thus  reposing  that  the  manager  of 
the  Covent  Garden  Theatre  called  in  person  to  inquire  about 
her  health,  and  the  probability  of  her  being  at  rehearsal 
that  morning,  or  at  the  opera  that  evening. 

She  sent  word  that  he  might  come  up  and  see  her. 

He  was  therefore  soon  ushered  in  by  the  footman,  Smith. 

He  entered  bowing,  and  took  the  seat  near  her  sofa,  to 
which  she  invited  him. 

"  You  see  my  condition,  Mr.  .     It  is  all  over  with 

me.     I  think  I  shall  never  sing  in  opera  again,"  said  Suzy, 
holding  out  her  hand  to  him. 

"  I  am  extremely  grieved  to  find  you  ill ;  but  for  Heaven's 
sake  don't  say  that,  Mademoiselle  !  Your  engagement  with 
us  incomplete,  too  !  You  would  ruin  me  !  "  exclaimed  the 
manager,  in  consternation. 

"  I  am  sorry  for  you,  but  I  cannot  help  it ;  for  1  am  worse 
than  '  ruined,'  and  those  I  love  best  in  the  world  are  worse 
than  '  ruined,'  in  your  sense  of  the  word.  I  will  pay  the 
forfeit ;  stand  a  suit  for  damages ;  do  anything,  suffer  any- 
thing, in  short,  rather  than  go  upon  the  boards  again  !  I 
have  left  the  stage  !  I  have  left  it  forever! " 


THE     LOST      STAR.  209 

"  But  for  the  love  of  Heaven,  Mademoiselle,  in  common 
honor  !  in  common  honesty  !  consider — " 

"  I  cannot  consider !  I  am  too  wretched  !  Look  at  me  ! 
Do  you  thiuk  it  possible  that  even  with  the  aid  of  drugs  I 
could  be  got  into  condition  to  appear  at  the  opera  to-night  ? 
No  !  nor  to-morrow  night,  nor  next  night.  '  In  common 
honesty  '  I  sent  for  you  to  tell  you  this.  If  it  does  not  sat- 
isfy,you,  I  will  send  for  a  physician,  who  will  give  a  certifi- 
cate to  the  facts.  My  engagement  with  you  will  terminate 
next  week.  That  will  be  before  I  shall  be  able  to  appear,  I 
know.  And  after  that  I  will  never  make  another  with  any 
theatrical  manager." 

She  spoke  in  a  faint  and  tremulous  voice. 

"  But,  my  dear  young  lady,  think  !  " 

"  I  cannot  think !  I  am  too  wretched  !  I  have  been  frank 
with  you,  and  now  please  to  leave  me  !  Do  not  thiuk  me 
unkind,  but  please  to  go,"  she  said,  growing  fainter  and 
paler. 

"  The  shock  you  have  sustained  has  certainly  unhinged 
your  mind,  as  well  as  your  nerves." 

'•'  Yes,  it  has.  Now  go.  I  recommend  you  to  telegraph 
to  Geneva  for  Madame  S.,  who  is  taking  her  holiday  on  Lake 
Geneva.  She  will  come  to  you  in  an  emergency,  no  doubt. 
Now,  good-morning,"  faltered  Suzy,  kindly  and  politely  dis- 
missing her  visitor. 

There  was  no  help  for  it.  The  manager  had  to  take  him- 
self and  his  disappointment  home.  There  was  no  doubt  that 
the  young  prirna  donna  was  too  much  prostrated  to  appear 
upon  the  stage  for  some  days  yet.  And  the  only  hope  he 
had  in  her  was,  that  after  a  little  time,  she  might  be  able  to 
rally  sufficiently  to  complete  her  engagement. 

"Well,"  he  said  to  himself,  as  he  left  the  house,  "her 
excessive  grief  proves  one  thing  very  clearly — that  this 
handsome  scamp  who  was  murdered  was  her  favored  lover 
after  all,  instead  of  the  infatuated  Earl  of  Wellrose,  whom 


300  A      NOBLE      LORD. 

everybody  thought  to  be  the  man.  And  now  to  follow  her 
advice  and  telegraph  for  Madame  S.  And,  meanwhile,  little 
Fee  must  take  her  part,  and  do  the  best  she  can  with  it." 

The  manager  had  scarcely  driven  away  from  the  house, 
before  the  carriage  of  the  Earl  of  Wellrose  drew  up  before 
the  door. 

He  too,  with  all  London,  had  of  course  heard  of  the  hor- 
rible murder  of  Mr.  Stuart  Fitzroy,  in  Piccadilly,  as  that 
unfortunate  gentleman  was  returning  from  a  little  supper 
with  Mademoiselle  Arielle  in  Park  Lane,  and  of  the  conse- 
quent illness,  and  absence  from  her  part,  of  the  young  prima 
donna. 

And  now  he  came  to  make  anxious  inquiries  about  her 
health. 

He  sent  up  his  card  and  compliments  and  inquiries. 
And  he  soon  received  for  answer  the  message  that  Mad- 
emoiselle begged  that  his  lordship  would  come  up  and  see 
her. 

This  was  a  pleasure  he  had  not  expected,  and  he  followed 
the  footman  with  alacrity. 

He  found  Suzy  still  reclining  on  the  sofa,  very  pale,  faint 
and  tremulous. 

She  greeted  him  with  gentle  courtesy,  and  begged  that  he 
would  sit  down  near  her. 

11  But  I  am  very  much  grieved  to  find  you  in  so  much 
sorrow,"  said  his  lordship  tenderly. 

"  It  is  for  Benjamin  Hurst!  You  know  he  was  commit- 
ted to  Newgate  on  the  charge  of  the  murder.  And  oh ! 
Lord  Wellrose,  he  never  did  it !  Benny  never,  never  did 
it!"  she  said,  bursting  into  tears,  and  sobbing  hysterically. 
"  I  do  not  believe  that  he  did ;  and  so  take  this  comfort 
to  your  heart,  my  best  beloved — that,  being  guiltless,  he 
will  surely  be  acquitted,"  he  said,  gently  taking  her  hand. 

"  '  Being  guiltless,  he  will  surely  be  acquitted  ! '  Oh,  my 
lord!  my  lord!  does  that  always  follow?  A  guiltless 


THE     LOST     STAR.  801 

child,  he  was  sent  to  the  Penal  Colonies  for  fourteen  years ! 
A  guiltless  man,  he  is  now  committed  to  Newgate  upon  the 
charge  of  murder.  And  he  may  be  convicted,  and  then — 
Oh  !  I  cannot  bear  it !  I  cannot  bear  it !  Oh,  Benny  ! 
Benny  !  if  they  put  you  to  death,  I  shall  die !  I  shall  die ! 
I  never  could  outlive  the  dark  and  dreadful  day ! "  she 
moaned,  sobbing,  as  if  her  heart  would  burst. 

"  My  best  beloved,"  said  the  young  Earl  gently,  and  all 
the  more  calmly  because  she  was  so  much  excited — "  my 
own  dearest  Susan,  you  must  not  despair  because  a  Coro- 
ner's Jury  has  brought  in  a  verdict  against  him.  It  was 
really  upon  very  insufficient  evidence.  And  coroners,  more- 
over, are  mostly  Dogberrys.  A  judge  is  another  sort  of 
man — a  man  of  superior  learning  and  wisdom,  who  holds 
his  high  office  in  virtue  of  these  qualities.  Benjamin  will 
have  a  fair  trial.  And  as  the  evidence  is  really  quite  in- 
sufficient to  convict  him,  he  will  be  acquitted  ;  and  after  his 
acquittal,  my  dearest  Suzy,  it  shall  be  my  very  first  care  to 
advance  him  in  life." 

"  Oh,  thanks  !  thanks  !  thanks  !  Oh  !  you  give  me  hope  ! 
You  think  there's  good  ground  for  hope  ?  You  really  do  ?  " 
eagerly  exclaimed  Suzy. 

"  I  know  there  is  ground  for  hope,  and  none  for  fear. 
Benjamin's  imprisonment  and  impending  trial  are  misfor- 
tunes that  we  cannot  prevent ;  but  they  will  be  the  extent 
of  his  troubles,  and  we  can  mitigate  them.  I  will  see  to 
engaging  the  best  counsel  for  him.  It  shall  be  my  first 
business  to  do  so  to-day." 

"  Oh,  I  thank  you  so  much  !  And  you  will  go  to  see  him 
in  his  cell  to-day,  and  speak  some  kind  words  to  him  ? — 
poor,  friendless  boy  !  " 

"  Indeed  I  will !  And  let  me  tell  you,  Susan,  that  there 
is  something  in  the  poor  young  man  that  interests  me 
strangely." 

"  Oh,  Lord  Wellrose — forgive  me  for  daring  to  hint  it, 


302  A      NOBLE      LORD. 

but — "     Susan  hesitated,  and  her  pale  face  flushed  for  an 
instant. 

"  But  what,  my  dearest  ?  Speak  freely,"  said  the  young 
Earl,  gently. 

"Oh,  Lord  Wellrose,  there  may  be  some  deep  reason  in 
nature  that  you  know  not  of,  for  this  strange  interest  you 
feel  in  Benjamin  Hurst,"  she  said,  and  then  again  paused. 

"  Truly  there  are  hidden  things  in  nature,  dearest  Suzy," 
he  said  soothingly,  though  he  did  not  see  the  drift  of  her 
words. 

"And  that  may  give  you  the  right  to  help  Benny,"  she 
continued,  and  once  more  paused  in  embarrassment. 

"  I  have  the  right  to  help  him,  and  all  who  need  my  help, 
dearest  Suzan.  But  there  is  something  you  have  to  say  to 
me,  and  find  difficulty  in  saying.  Now,  surely  you  may 
speak  freely  to  me,  my  own,"  he  said  gently,  pressing  her 
hand,  that  he  still  held. 

"  Oh,  Lord  Wellrose,"  murmured  Susan,  in  a  very  low 
tone,  and  blushing  deeply,  "  I  hope  you  will  forgive  me  for 
venturing  to  make  such  an  assertion  ;  but  I  must  not  hesi- 
tate to  say  anything  that  may  serve  to  deepen  your  interest 
in  poor  Benny.  Lord  Wellrose,  poor  Benjamin  Hurst, 
humble  as  he  is,  may  be  your  own  poor  kinsman." 

"Impossible!"  broke  impulsively  from  the  lips  of  the 
astonished  young  man.  Then,  in  a  quieter  tone  he  asked: 
"  What  makes  you  think  so,  dearest  ?" 

"  Oh,  in  the  first  place,  the  strong  likeness  !  If  you  were 
dressed  alike,  strangers  might  take  you  for  twins,"  said 
Susan. 

The  young  Earl  smiled  slightly,  as  he  said: 

"  The  likeness  is  undeniable.  But  do  you  not  know  that 
such  likenesses  have  been  found  to  exist  even  between  per- 
sons of  different  nationalities  ?  " 

"Yes,  my  lord;  but  I  fancy  that  in  every  such  case  there 
must  have  been  some  blood  relationshship,  however  distant, 


THE      LOST     STAR.  303 

or  even  unknown.  But  the  likeness  between  you,  my  lord, 
and  my  poor  friend  Benny,  is  not  the  only  reason  I  have 
for  believing  that  he  may  be  your  lordship's  poor  kinsman." 

"  Then  what  more,  dearest  ?  " 

"  Lord  Wellrose,  Benjamin  was  not  the  child  of  the 
woman  whose  name  he  bears,  and  who  brought  him  up  as 
her  own.  He  was  a  deserted  child,  of  unknown  parentage. 
All  that  is  known  of  him  is  this  :  that  he  was  born  in  or 
near  Seton  Castle,  the  seat  of  your  grandfather,  the  late 
Baron  Linlithgow ;  and  the  only  relics  of  his  childhood 
that  he  possesses,  are  two  little  articles,  a  sack  and  a 
sock,  both  of  which  are  embroidered  with  the  Eglantine, 
which  your  lordship  knows  to  be  the  symbol  of  the  Seton- 
Linlithgows,  just  as  the  Kose  was  the  symbol  of  the  Sin- 
clairs  of  Roslyn." 

"  Yes,"  said  the  Earl,  with  a  smile,  "  and  many  of  the 
daughters  of  Seton-Linlithgow  were  named  after  their 
flower,  as  many  of  the  ladies  of  Roslyn  were  named  after 
their  rose.  But  go  on,  my  dearest  Susan." 

"Nor  was  there  so  much  in  all  this,  had  not  the  crest  of 
the  Barons  of  Seton-Linlithgow  been  embroidered  among 
the  leaves  of  their  symbolic  flower,  the  Eglantine.  That 
fact  alone  would  have  been  worthless.  Any  lady  of  the 
house  of  Seton-Linlithgow  might  have  given  the  cast-off 
garments  of  her  infant  to  any  servant  or  peasant  woman 
needing  clothing  for  her  child  ;  but  taken  in  connection 
with  the  strong  likeness  between  your  lordship  and  the 
possessor  of  these  relics,  I  think  they  mean  much.  What 
do  you  think,  Lord  Wellrose?"  inquired  Suzy,  looking 
intently  into  the  face  of  the  Earl. 

The  son  of  Eglantine  Seton,  Baroness  Linlithgow,  Duch- 
ess of  Cheviot,  mused  for  a  few  moments.  A  vision  passed 
before  him  of  some  young  scapegrace  of  his  grandfather's 
race  having  some  love  affair  with  some  servant  in  the  family 
or  some  peasant  girl  on  the  estate,  and  of  Benny's  being 


S04  A      NOBLE      LORD. 

the  consequence  of  their  folly ;  and  of  some  nurse  or  house- 
keeper at  the  Castle  giving  the  left-off  infant  dresses  to 
clothe  the  destitute  child.  But  all  was  very  vague.  So 
he  inquired : 

"  Do  you  know  what  you  have  stated  to  be  faots,  my 
dear  Susan  ?  And  have  you  seen  these  relics,  as  you  call 
them?" 

"  Let  me  be  accurate,"  said  Suzy.  "  I  know  the  like- 
ness to  be  a  fact ;  and  so  do  you.  I  have  seen  the  relics  ; 
and  so  may  you.  All  the  other  facts  I  have  from  hearsay  ; 
but  I  believe  them,  and  I  believe  they  may  be  proved." 

"  Well,  my  dearest,  whether  this  young  man  may  have 
any  claim  upon  me  from  kinship  or  from  mere  humanity, 
he  has  certainly  a  claim  stronger  than  either  of  these  :  it 
is  that  you,  my  beloved,  are  interested  in  his  fate.  When 
I  leave  you,  Susan,  1  shall  go  as  soon  as  possible  to  Mr. 
Percy  Melliss,  the  most  eminent  lawyer  for  criminal  cases 
in  the  world  perhaps,  and  I  shall  retain  him,  and  any  other 
lawyer  or  half  dozen  lawyers  that  he  may  recommend  to 
assist  him." 

"  Oh,  I  do  thank  you  so  much  !  And,  Lord  Wellrose,  my 
purse,  my  whole  fortune  is  freely  at  Benny's  service,  to 
secure  the  best  counsel  for  him — yes,  if  it  should  take  all  I 
possess  in  the  world !  Oh,  angels  in  Heaven,  bear  me  wit- 
ness how  freely  I  would  give  all  I  possess  in  the  world  to 
have  Benny  once  more  out  of  prison,  and  free  from  the  hor- 
rible danger  !  "  she  exclaimed,  with  a  shudder,  bursting  again 
into  hysterical  sobs  and  tears. 

"  Take  comfort,  dearest  one,"  said  the  young  Earl,  with 
much  emotion.  "  As  to  the  finding  and  retaining  of  the 
best  counsel  to  be  had,  that  shall  be  iny  care  and  my  cost, 
my  duty  and  my  pleasure." 

"  No,  no,"  said  Suzy  eagerly,  through  her  tears.  "  You 
may  perhaps  have  the  right  to  help  Benny,  and  I  am  glad 
to  know  that  you  will  do  it;  but  I  have  certainly  the  right 


THE     LOST     STAR.  305 

to  help  him,  and  I  mean  to  do  it ;  not  only  because  he  was 
a  loved  and  trusted  member  of  my  household — though  that 
circumstance,  considered  in  itself,  is  much — but  more  because 
he  has  always  seemed  to  me  like  one  of  my  own  brothers, 
only  dearer,  far  dearer  than  any  brother  I  have,  because  he 
was  just  of  my  own  age,  and  in  our  infancy  shared  my 
cradle  and  my  food  and  play  like  my  twin-brother.  My 
lord,  help  him  all  you  can,  but  let  me  bear  the  cost,  for  the 
precious  old  love's  sake.  You  do  not  misunderstand  me,  I 
hope  ;  do  you,  Lord  Wellrose  ?  "  inquired  Suzy,  in  an  anx- 
ious tone. 

"  Misunderstand  you,  true  heart,  pure  spirit  ?  No,  indeed. 
I  understand  you  and  confide  in  you,  and  love  you  perfectly. 
And  I  go  from  you  now  straight  to  the  cell  of  the  imprisoned 
boy,  that  I  may  comfort  him  for  your  sake,"  said  the  Earl, 
as  he  raised  and  pressed  her  hand  to  his  lips. 

"  God  bless  you  for  these  good  words.  Give  my  love  to 
Benny.  Tell  him  that  I  know  he  is  innocent ;  and  that  I 
wifl  come  to  see  him  just  so  soon  as  I  can  stand  on  my  feet." 

"  I  will  tell  him,"  said  the  Earl. 

And  then  he  took  leave  of  his  love,  and  left  the  house. 

As  he  entered  his  brougham  he  gave  his  orders  to  the 
coachman  in  accordance  with  his  resolutions. 

And  as  the  carriage  bowled  along  in  the  right  direction, 
Lord  Wellrose  fell  into  a  deep  reverie  on  the  subject  of  Ben- 
jamin Hurst's  possible  relationship  with  his  own  family,  the 
circumstances  of  his  birth  and  his  deserted  condition  ;  of  his 
likeness  to  himself,  Lord  Wellrose  ;  of  his  possession  of  the 
relics,  and  of  Suzy's  words. 

19 


» 

306  A     NOBLE      LORD. 

CHAPTER  XXXII. 

FETTERED    LOVE. 

I  tell  you,  he  walked  up  and  down 

That  prison  crowned  with  love's  best  crown, 

And  feasted  with  love's  perfect  feast, 

To  feel  he  killed,  for  her,  at  least. 

Body  and  mind,  and  peace  and  fame, 

Alike  youth's  end  and  manhood's  aim. — BROWNING. 

FKOM  Park  Lane,  Lord  Wellrose  went  straight  to  Lin- 
coln Inn  Fields,  and  sought  out  the  chambers  of  Mr.  Percy 
Melliss,  the  great  criminal  lawyer. 

So  great  was  now  the  fame  of  this  learned  lawyer  and 
eloquent  advocate,  that  he  might  have  been  a  Queen's  Coun- 
sel if  he  had  but  chosen  to  abandon  the  cause  of  the  poor 
and  needy — the  men  and  women,  aye,  and  little  children, 
"more  sinned  against  than  sinning" — the  cause  of  human- 
ity, the  cause  of  Christ,  the  cause  of  God. 

So  when  he  might  have  risen  to  be  Queen's  Counsel, 
Queen's  Advocate,  Solicitor-General,  Attorney-General,  or 
even,  in  time,  Lord  Chancellor,  he  chose  to  remain  only  the 
great  criminal  lawyer,  with  the  questionable  reputation  aud 
all  but  reproach  that  attaches  to  the  name. 

Their  deep  mutual  interest  in  the  "  cause "  had  so  fre- 
quently brought  Lord  Wellrose  and  himself  into  company, 
that  a  very  warm  friendship  had  grown  up  between  the 
gifted  advocate  and  the  young  Earl. 

When  Lord  Wellrose  had  been  preparing  his  famous 
"  Bill  for  the  Reclamation  of  Criminals,  and  the  Reform  of 
Prison  Discipline,"  he  took  frequent  occasion  to  consult  Mr. 
Percy  Melliss,  who  gave  him  valuable  aid  in  his  humane 
enterprise. 

And  so  their  friendship  had  matured. 

And  now  the  young  Earl  sought  the  great  criminal  law- 
yer in  behalf  of  Benjamin  Hurst,  a  prisoner  in  Kewgate, 


FETTERED      LOVE.  307 

charged  with  the  murder  of  the  Honorable  Stuart  Fitzroy 
son  of  the  Viscount  St.  Paul. 

Arrived  at  the  house,  he  sent  up  his  card,  on  which  he  had 
written  in  pencil,  under  hie  name,  "  life  and  death." 

He  was  at  once  admitted,  and  after  going  up  two  flights 
of  stairs  and  passing  through  two  or  three  rooms,  each  occu- 
pied by  two  or  three  clerks,  he  was  shown  into  aback  cham 
ber,  where  the  great  advocate  sat  writing  at  a  table,  covered 
with  papers. 

Mr.  Melliss  immediately  arose  to  receive  Lord  Wellrose. 

"  Busy  ?  "  inquired  the  Earl,  with  a  smile. 

"Always,"  responded  the  lawyer,  setting  a  chair  for  his 
visitor. 

"  Nevertheless,  you  see,  I  interrupt  you,"  said  the  Earl, 
apologetically,  as  he  took  the  offered  seat. 

"  Your  lordship  is  most  heartily  welcome,"  answered  the 
advocate,  as  he  reseated  himself  at  the  table,  and,  turning 
his  face  toward  his  visitor,  assumed  an  attentive  expression. 

"You  have  heard  all  about  this  murder  in  Piccadilly,  of 
course  ?  The  papers  are  full  of  it,  and  it  is  the  talk  of  all 
London." 

"  The  murder  of  Stuart  Fitzroy.  Yes,  certainly.  Who 
lias  not  ?  " 

"  No  one,  probably.  But  I  come  to  you  this  morning  in 
behalf  of  the  young  man  who  is  charged  with  the  murder, 
and  whom  I  believe  from  my  soul  to  be  as  guiltless  of  that 
crime  as  you  or  myself,"  said  the  young  Earl,  earnestly. 

"  There  is,  at  least,  no  good  evidence  against  him.  But, 
for  the  murder  of  Lord  St.  Paul's  son,  I  suppose  the  coro- 
ner and  his  jury  thought  they  must  commit  somebody,  right 
or  wrong,  and  so  they  committed  this  poor  young  man.  Do 
you  know  anything  of  him  ?  "  inquired  Mr.  Melliss. 

"  Know  him  ?  "  echoed  Lord  Wellrose,  with  some  emotion. 
"  Yes,  I  know  him  well,  and  feel  the  deepest  compassion  for 
his  misfortunes.  I  come  this  morning  to  ask  you  to  under- 
take his  defence.  Can  you  do  it  ?  Are  you  too  busy  ?  " 


308  A      NOBLE      LORD. 

"I  am  busy.  I  am  always  busy,  very  busy.  And  yet  I 
have  always  time  to  do  everything  that  I  ought  to  do.  I 
ought  to  defend  this  young  man,  and  I  will  certainly  find 
time  to  do  it." 

"  Spoken  like  yourself,  good  friend  !  Thanks,"  said  the 
Earl,  as  he  opened  his  pocket-book  and  took  from  it  a  Bank 
of  England  note  for  a  hundred  pounds,  which  he  quietly 
laid  upon  the  lawyer's  table  as  a  retaining  fee.  Then  he 
arose  to  depart. 

"  I  will  get  through  a  little  pressing  business  this  fore- 
noon, and  early  this  afternoon  I  will  see  my  new  client," 
said  the  lawyer,  rising  to  attend  his  distinguished  visitor  to 
the  door. 

The  Earl  of  Wellrose  went  next  to  Newgate. 
He  was  well  acquainted  with  the  Reverend  Mr.  Ross,  the 
Chaplain   of    the   prison,    who   was   also   the   Duchess   of 
Cheviot's  almoner  to  the  poor  and  friendless  prisoners. 

His  lordship  asked  for  the  chaplain,  and  was  shown  to  his 
reverence's  room. 

Mr.  Ross  was  not  the  same  chaplain  who  had  been  in 
office  there  when  Benny,  the  child,  had  been  incarcerated 
for  burglary,  and  consequently  he  knew  nothing  whatever 
of  the  history  of  the  new  prisoner,  Benjamin  Hurst. 

But  when  the  Earl  of  Wellrose  entered  the  chaplain's 
room,  the  latter  thought  his  lordship  had  only  come  upon 
some  benevolent  errand  to  him  as  the  Duchess  of  Cheviot's 
almoner. 

The  chaplain  was  quite  an  old  man,  with  a  tall,  spare 
form,  clad  in  a  thread-bare  suit  of  black,  a  fine  bald  head, 
adorned  with  a  few  thin  locks  of  silver  hair,  and  a  pale,  thin 
face,  with  a  holy  calm  upon  it,  full  of  the  love  of  God  and 
man. 

He  arose  to  meet  the  young  Earl,  and  offered  him  his 
hand  and  begged  him  to  sit  down,  and  inquired  after  the 
good  Duchess,  his  mother. 


FETTERED      LOVE.  309 

Lord  Wellrose  thanked  him,  and  sat  down  and  replied 
satisfactorily  to  his  questions,  and  then  opened  the  subject 
of  his  visit  by  asking  the  chaplain  if  he  had  yet  seen  the 
new  prisoner,  Benjamin  Hurst. 

"  Who  is  charged  with  the  murder  of  young  Stuart  Fitz- 
roy  ?  No,  I  have  not  yet  seen  him.  I  was  indeed  about  to 
visit  his  cell  when  your  lordship's  name  was  announced. 
Alas  !  "  sighed  the  aged  minister,  using  a  very  old-fashioned 
interjection — "  Alas  !  I  have  heard  this  is  also  another  case 
of  neglected  childhood  growing  up  to  depraved  youth  and 
criminal  manhood  !  The  papers  state  that  this  wretched 
young  man  has  been  a  thief  and  an  outcast,  and  the  com- 
panion of  burglars  and  cut-throats,  from  his  infancy  up. 
It  is  said  that  he  has  but  recently  returned  from  a  fourteen 
years'  transportation  for  burglary.  And  that  he  obtained 
the  situation  of  butler  at  the  house  where  he  was  engaged, 
only  by  a  false  character  and  forged  recommendation.  All 
this  will  tell  very  much  against  him  in  the  coming  trial. 
But  I  must  visit  him  and  save  him,  if  through  the  Lord's 
help,  I  may.  Our  Divine  Master  '  came  not  to  call  the 
righteous,  but  sinners  to  repentance/"  said  the  chaplain 
reverently,  bowing  his  head. 

The  young  Earl  looked  gravely  at  the  speaker  for  a 
moment,  and  then  said  : 

"  '  WHO  hath  sinned,  this  man  or  his  parents,  that  he  is 
born  blind?'  Even  if  all  the  crimes  falsely  imputed  to 
Benjamin  Hurst  were  committed  by  him,  still  let  us  ask, 
'Who  hath  sinned,  this  man,  or  his  parents,'  or  you  or  I, 
and  all  society,  '  that  he  is  born  blind ' — morally  and  spirit- 
ually blind ;  and  that  he  has  grown  up  blind — morally  and 
spiritually  blind?  " 

The  chaplain  reverently  bowed  his  head  and  answered : 

"  I  know  that  we  all  have  sinned." 

"Yes,"  said  the  young  Earl.  "We  have  all  sinned  in 
this  respect,  more  than  in  all  others." 


310  A      NOBLE     LORD. 

"Each  one  of  us,  the  very  poorest  of  us,  might  save  at 
least  one  little  destitute,  neglected  child  from  remaining  the 
companion  of  thieves  and  outcasts,  and  from  growing  up  to 
become  a  thief  or  a  murderer,"  added  the  chaplain. 

And  there  was  silence  between  the  two  for  a  while,  and 
then  the  young  Earl  said  : 

"All  that  the  gossippiug  daily  papers  have  falsel}'  said  of 
Benjamin  Hurst  might  well  have  been  true ;  and  yet  still 
it  might  have  been  truly  said  of  him,  that  he  was  '  more 
sinned  against  than  sinning.'" 

"  Yes,  yes ;  that  is  what  your  gracious  mother,  the  Duch- 
ess, often  says  of  the  worst  criminals  confined  in  this 
prison." 

"  And  she  is  nearly  right.  But  in  this  case  of  Benjamin 
Hurst,  she  is  entirely  right.  He  is  indeed,  Heaven  knows, 
more,  much  more,  very  much  more,  'sinned  against  than 
sinning.'  In  his  ignorant  infancy  he  became  the  charge  of 
thieves  and  outcasts;  he  was  taught  evil  for  good,  sin  for 
duty.  He  learned  the  lessons  and  performed  the  tasks 
for  love  of  those  around  him.  He  became,  for  their  sakes, 
because  he  knew  no  better,  a  beggar,  a  liar  and  a  thief,  just 
as  another 'more  fortunate  child,  from  the  same  motives  of 
conscience  and  affection,  might  have  become  a  philanthro- 
pist, an  advocate  of  truth  and  a  benefactor  of  his  kind. 
One  whom  I  love  and  trust,  and  who  has  known  Benjamin 
Hurst  from  his  babyhood  and  hers,  has  told  me  so  much  of 
his  sweetness  of  temper,  goodness  of  heart,  gentleness  of 
manners  and  docility  of  disposition,  that  I  can  see  perfectly 
well  how  easy  it  was  for  the  thieves  and  outcasts  who  were 
his  only  protectors,  and  who  had  won  his  childish  heart,  to 
turn  all  his  inherent  good  qualities  to  evil  uses.  But  these 
evil  uses  were  habits,  that  were  no  more  a  part  of  the  boy's 
nature  than  were  his  poor  little  ragged  jacket  and  trowsers 
a  part  of  himself.  And  he  was  one  who  only  needed  to  be 
shown  the  Right  to  see  its  beauty,  to  love  it  and  prefer  it  to 


FETTERED     LOVE.  311 

the  Wrong;  just  as  lie  would  have  preferred  clean  and 
whole  clothes  to  ragged  and  filthy  ones.  And  almost  the 
first  glimpse  he  had  of  the  Right  was  caught  within  these 
prison  walls,  from  your  venerable  predecessor,  the  then  chap- 
lain. I  have  heard  how  eagerly  and  gratefully  he  learned 
the  good  lessons  taught  him  here.  And  I  have  seen  for 
myself  how  he  has  profited  by  them.  I  have  only  recently 
known  Benjamin  Hurst  well,  but  all  I  have  seen  of  him  has 
shown  me  a  young  man  true,  pure,  brave,  just  and  singularly 
refined  in  person,  in  manner  and  in  spirit;  a  young  man 
rare  in  any  rank  of  life,  and  wonderfully  rare  in  his." 

"  Your  lordship  is  very  earnest  in  your  advocacy  of  this 
young  prisoner.  I  trust  your  lordship  may  be  right,"  said 
the  chaplain. 

"  When  you  see  and  talk  with  Benjamin  Hurst  you  will 
know  that  I  am  right.  I  think  you  said  that  you  were 
about  to  visit  him  in  his  cell.  If  so,  I  should  be  obliged 
if  you  will  take  me  with  you.  I  wish  to  see  him  privately, 
or  at  least  with  no  other  witness  than  yourself.  Can  you 
gratify  me?  "  inquired  the  young  Earl. 

"  Certainly,  my  lord,  with  pleasure,"  answered  the  chap- 
lain. And  he  touched  the  bell. 

An  officer  of  the  prison  answered  the  summons. 

The  chaplain  whispered  a  few  words  to  him.  He  went 
out,  and  after  some  moments  a  turnkey  entered  and  re- 
spectfully intimated  that  he  was  "  at  the  service  of  his 
reverence." 

Mr.  Ross  arose  and  invited  Lord  Wellrose  to  accompany 
him. 

The  turnkey  led  the  way,  and  the  Earl  and  the  chaplain 
followed  through  many  passages,  and  up  and  down  many 
flights  of  stairs,  until  they  came  to  a  row  of  cells,  at  one  of 
which  the  man  stopped  and  suddenly  thrust  in  a  key,  opened 
the  door,  and  admitted  the  visitors. 

The  poor  voiiug  priouuer,  when  suddenly  exposed  to  view, 


312  A      NOBLE      LORD. 

was  found  sitting  on  the  side  of  his  rude  bunk,  engaged  in 
reading  a  small  volume. 

On  seeing  his  visitors,  he  quickly  turned  down  the  leaf 
of  the  volume  he  was  reading,  laid  the  book  aside,  and  arose 
to  greet  that  one  visitor  whom  he  recognized,  with  the 
heartfelt  acknowledgment : 

"  I  knew  your  lordship  would  come  to  see  me  in  my 
trouble  !  I  thank  your  lordship  very  much." 

"  My  poor  fellow,  I  am  very  sorry  to  see  you  here,"  said 
the  Earl,  taking  his  hand  and  pressing  it,  and  still  continu- 
ing to  hold  it,  while  he  added,  "  This  gentleman  who  ac- 
companies me  is  the  Reverend  Mr.  Koss,  the  prison  chap- 
lain, and  he  wishes  to  be  your  friend."  Then  turning  to 
Mr.  Koss,  he  said,  "  Keverend  sir,  this  is  Benjamin  Hurst, 
who,  though  a  prisoner  here,  charged  with  a  crime  I  feel 
sure  that  he  did  not  and  could  not  commit,  possesses  my 
entire  confidence  and  esteem." 

"  Oh,  thanks,  thanks  for  these  good  and  gracious  words  !  " 
said  the  young  prisoner  earnestly. 

"  I  hope  and  trust  in  the  Lord,  that  I  may  be  able  to 
serve  you,  my  young  friend,"  said  the  chaplain,  kindly 
shaking  hands  with  the  prisoner. 

There  were  few  accommodations  for  visitors  in  these  rude 
prison  cells.  Therefore  the  three  sat  down  on  the  side  of 
the  bunk,  that  did  the  double  duty  of  bed  by  night  and 
bench  by  day. 

"  What  have  you  been  reading?"  inquired  the  chaplain, 
taking  up  the  little  book  that  Benny  had  laid  aside.  "Ah, 
I  see  !  "  he  said,  as  he  opened  it. 

The  book  was  the  New  Testament,  and  the  leaf  was  folded 
down  at  the  twenty-sixth  chapter  of  St.  Matthew's  Gospel, 
describing  the  Saviour's  agony  in  the  garden  of  Geth- 
semane. 

"  Why  did  you  select  this  particular  part  of  the  Scripture 
to  read  this  morning  ?  "  inquired  the  chaplain. 


FETTERED      LOVE.  313 

Benny  looked  down  at  his  own  fettered  limbs,  and  around 
upon  the  heavy  stone-walls  and  strong  iron  gratings  of  his 
prison  cell,  and  then  raised  his  mouruful  blue  eyes  to  the 
face  of  the  chaplain.  And  the  good  man  was  answered. 

"  I  see,"  he  said  with  a  sigh,  as  he  laid  down  the  book 
and  arose  and  stood  with  his  back  to  the  grated  door,  facing 
the  two  young  men,  the  unconscious  brothers,  who  were 
still  seated  side  by  side  on  the  edge  of  the  bunk.  And  as 
he  looked  at  them  his  aged  face  grew  deep  in  interest. 

How  much  alike  these  young  men,  though  severed  so  far 
in  rank  and  position ;  only  that  one  was  so  pale,  thin  and 
wasted,  and  the  other  was  in  such  ruddy  health,  that  the 
one  seemed  but  the  faded-out  image  of  the  other  ! 

"  They  are  enough  alike  to  be  the  children  of  the  same 
parents,"  thought  the  minister.  "And  yet  what  a  con- 
trast !  "  And  at  the  thought  the  good  man  sighed. 

The  young  Earl  with  almost  womanly  tenderness,  held 
the  white  transparent  hand  of  his  unknown  brother  and 
wondered  at  the  more  than  sympathy,  at  the  warmth  of 
affection,  he  felt  for  the  poor,  patient  young  prisoner. 

And  as  for  Benny,  a  strange  feeling  of  protection  and 
peace  came  over  his  spirit. 

"  It  grieves  me  very  much  to  see  you  here,  Hurst,  eveu 
for  a  few  days.  But  it  can  only  be  for  a  few  days,  my 
friend,  for  the  Sessions  are  near  at  hand,  when  you  will  be 
tried  and  most  certainly  acquitted.  I  hope  you  know 
this?" 

"  I  know  that  I  am  not  guilty,  my  lord ;  but  whether  the 
jury  will  believe  so,  I  do  not  know.  But  it  seems  to  me 
that  I  am  fated.  It  does  not  matter  though,"  answered 
Benny  sadly. 

"  Are  you  a  Christian,  Benjamin  ?  " 

"  Yes,  my  lord,  however  unworthj'  to  bear  that  name." 

"  Then  you  must  not  be  a  fatalist.  You  will  be  acquitted, 
Benjamin.  But  I  wish  you  to  be  more  than  acquitted.  I 


314  A     NOBLE     LORD. 

wish  you  to  be  vindicated.  I  wish  your  character  to  come 
pure  from  this  ordeal  as  fine  gold  from  the  fiery  furnace. 
For  this  reason  I  have  to-day  retained  for  your  defence,  the 
most  learned  lawyer  and  eloquent  advocate  in  the  country. 
I  mean.  Mr.  Percy  Melliss,  of  whom,  no  doubt,  you  have 
heard." 

"Oh,  yes,"  said  Benny,  immediately  recollecting  the 
name  of  the  young  lawyer  who,  years  before,  had  so  success- 
fully defended  his,  Benny's,  foster-mother — "  Oh,  yes,  my 
lord,  I  have  heard  of  Mr.  Melliss.  But,  oh,  how  shall  I 
ever  be  able  to  thank  you  enough  for  all  your  goodness  and 
kindness  to  me  ? "  inquired  Benny,  raising  his  sad  eyes 
gratefully  to  the  eyes  of  the  Earl. 

"  My  poor  boy,  by  letting  me  serve  you  as  much  as  I  wish 
to  do,"  said  the  Earl,  caressing  the  thin,  pale,  fettered  hand 
that  he  held  between  his  own.  "  I  like  you,  Benjamin.  I 
wish  to  see  you  prosperous  and  happy.  And  when  you 
shall  be  acquitted  and  vindicated,  you  must  let  me  do  a 
great  deal  for  you,  indeed.  You  must  take  a  great  deal 
from  me.  We  can,  any  of  us,  take  anything  from  one  who 
loves  us,  can  we  not,  Benjamin  ?  " 

The  poor  young  man,  overcome  by  this  gentleness  of 
sympathy,  dropped  his  face  upon  his  fettered  hands,  burst 
into  tears  and  sobbed.  After  a  little  while  he  composed 
himself,  and  said : 

"Forgive  this  weakness,  my  lord.  I  have  not  been  used 
to  such  kindness,  except  from  one." 

"  There,  there ;  it  is  perfectly  natural.  You  are  not 
physically  strong,  and  you  have  been  severely  tried.  Now 
let  us  look* beyond  this  dark  present  to  the  fair  future,  not 
BO  far  off.  When  you  are  fully  acquitted  and  vindicated, 
both  by  the  court  and  the  press,  we  must  see  to  giving  3-011 
a  fresh  start  in  life.  You  are  not  fit  for  service,  Benjamin. 
You  must  not  go  into  it  again.  You  must  select  some  pro- 
fession that  will  be  more  to  your  taste.  You  are  quite 


FETTERED      LOVE.  315 

young  enough  to  study  law  or  medicine;  or,  if  you  prefer  it, 
as  all  England  is  arming  now  for  the  Crimean  war,  you 
might  enter  the  army.  It  would  give  me  the  greatest  hap- 
piness to  purchase  a  commission  for  you  in  some  good  regi- 
ment, or  to  enter  you  at  some  law  school,  or  medical 
college." 

"Too  much!  too  much,  my  lord!  You — you — "  Benny 
began,  but  his  voice  was  choked  with  emotion. 

"Ah,  Hurst,  if  you  would  but  keep  in  mind  that  we  are 
the  sons  of  one  Father,  you  would  not  then  think  or  feel 
that  I,  the  fortunate  brother,  could  do  too  much  for  you,  the 
unhappy  one,"  said  Lord  Wellrose. 

He  spoke,  of  course,  of  the  universal  human  brotherhood, 
yet  Benny's  pale  face  flushed  at  the  words. 

"  Benny,"  said  the  Earl  suddenly,  yet  with  great  gentle- 
ness, "do  you  remember  the  time  when  we  first  met?  " 

"  In  London,  my  lord  ?  "  inquired  Benjamin. 

"No,  in  Brighton." 

A  smile  lighted  up  the  wan  features  of  the  young  man 
as  he  answered : 

"  Oh,  yes,  my  lord.  I  remember  well  the  little  gentleman 
who  emptied  his  own  pockets  and  levied  contributions  from 
the  purses  of  his  little  sisters,  to  buy  shoes  and  stockings  for 
the  barefooted  boy  they  met  on  the  Esplanade.  I  remember 
well,  my  lord.  I  remember,  also,  how,  a  few  days  later,  the 
little  angels,  as  they  seemed  to  me  then,  had  me  brought  off 
the  dark,  snowy  sidewalk  into  their  bright,  warm  parlor,  and 
gave  me  a  piece  of  their  Twelfth-daj7  cake.  I  remember  all 
the  incidents  of  that  evening.  Such  bright  spots  in  my 
dark  life  were  too  few  to  be  forgotten.  I  remember,  my 
lord.  And  the  first  time  I  saw  you  in  London,  I  recognized 
you  at  once.  But  it  was  not  for  me  to  speak." 

"  I  very  soon  recognized  you  also,  Hurst.  And  now  re- 
member, my  boy,  that  this  friendship  of  ours  began  in  our 
boyhood.  And  trust  me  as  an  old  friend/'  said  the  young 


316  A      NOBLE      LORD. 

Earl,  with  a  smile.  And  then  he  gave  place  to  the  almost 
forgotten  chaplain,  who  came  and  sat  down  by  the  young 
prisoner  and  talked  with  him  for  a  few  moments,  and  then 
proposed  prayer,  in  which  Lord  Wellrose  joined  them. 

When  they  arose  from  their  knees,  the  young  Earl,  look- 
ing around  upon  the  bare,  comfortless  cell,  said  : 

"  I  see,  Benjamin,  that  you  require  a  good  many  articles 
here  to  make  3-ou  decently  comfortable.  I  will  call  on  the 
Governor  and  obtain  leave  to  fit  up  this  place  for  you.  I  will 
also  send  you  some  books  to  while  away  the  tedious  hours. 
Mr.  Melliss,  your  counsel,  will  call  this  afternoon.  I  hope 
you  will  confide  entirely  in  him.  And  another  faithful 
young  friend  of  yours  will  come  to  see  you  to-morrow.  She 
bade  me  tell  you  so,  with  her  love." 

"  Ah  !  my  lord,  how  is  she  ?  I  have  been  wishing  to  ask 
you  all  this  time,  but  could  not  bear  to  breathe  her  name  in 
a  place  like  this.  How  is  she  ?  "  earnestly  inquired  Benny. 

"She  is  suffering  from  the  shock  she  has  received,  of 
course.  But  she  hopes  to  be  well  enough  to  come  to  see  you 
to-morrow." 

"Does  she  think  me  guilty  of  this  murder?"  inquired 
Benny,  with  quivering  lips. 

"No.  She  would  stake  her  life  upon  your  innocence. 
She  will  tell  you  so  when  she  sees  you  to-morrow.  Keep  up 
your  spirits,  Benjamin,"  said  the  Earl,  in  the  cheerful,  en- 
couraging tone  which  he  had  maintained  during  the  whole 
interview. 

"  Oh,  I  thank  Heaven  that  she,  at  least,  does  not  think 
me  guilty  !  "  said  the  young  man,  earnestly. 

"  Very  few  people  can  believe  you  to  be  so,  Benjamin," 
observed  the  Earl. 

"  Does  she  suspect  who  did  the  deed  ? "  inquired  the 
young  prisoner  hesitating,  anxiously. 

"  No ;  but  she  suspects  that  you  know  who  did  it,  and  will 
not  tell  even  to  clear  yourself.  She  suspects  that  you  are 


COUNSEL      AND     CLIENT.  317 

shielding  the  real  murderer,  even  at  the  risk  of  your  own 
life,"  said  the  young  Earl,  gazing  wistfully  into  the  face  of 
the  prisoner,  who  started,  turned  white  as  death,  and  met 
the  Earl's  gaze  with  a  look  so  conscious,  that  in  an  instant, 
as  by  a  flash  of  revelation,  Lord  Wellrose  knew  whom  it  was 
that  Benjamin  Hurst  was  shielding — Suzy's  brother,  who  had 
fled,  and  left  Benjamin  Hurst  to  suffer  for  him — possibly 
even  to  die  for  him  ! 

The  conviction  was  so  sudden  and  overwhelming  that  the 
young  Earl  felt  himself  obliged  to  sit  down  again  to  recover 
from  the  shock. 

And  at  the  same  moment  the  door  was  opened  by  the 
guard,  and  Mr.  Percy  Melliss  entered. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

COUNSEL     AND      CLIENT. 

Stone  walls  do  not  a  prison  make, 

Nor  Iron  bars  a  cage, 
For  spirits  pure  and  calm  do  take 

These  for  a  hermitage. — SIR  WALTER  EALEIGH. 

THE  Earl  of  Wellrose  aroused  himself  from  his  preoccu- 
pation, and  presented  the  counsel  to  his  client. 

And  then,  having  promised  to  visit  the  prisoner  again  on 
the  ensuing  morning,  he  bade  good  day  to  both,  and,  attend- 
ed by  the  chaplain,  left  the  cell. 

He  took  leave  of  the  reverend  gentleman  at  the  gate,  en- 
tered his  carriage  and  directed  his  coachman  to  drive  home. 
When  he  arrived  at  Cheviot  House,  he  shut  himself  in  his 
own  apartments,  and  gave  his  mind  to  painful  reflections. 

He  felt  convinced  that  Benjamin  Hurst  was  shielding  the 
real  murderer  with  his  life ;  and  that  that  murderer  was 
William  Juniper! 

And   yet,  when  he  came  to  review  the  evidence   givcu 


318  A     NOBLE     LORD. 

before  the  Coroner's  jury,  he  could  find  nothing  whatever  to 
connect  young  Juniper  with  the  crime,  while  there  was  very 
much  to  criminate  young  Hurst. 

When  Suzy  had  been  affronted  by  Mr.  Stuart  Fitzroy,  it 
was  not  William  Juniper,  but  Benjamin  Hurst,  who  became 
fired  with  just  anger. 

When  Stuart  Fitzroy  left  the  house,  in  a  state  of  intoxi- 
cation that  rendered  him  incapable  of  taking  care  of  him- 
self, it  was  not  William  Juniper,  but  Benjamin  Hurst  who 
attended  him. 

And  finally,  when  the  body  of  the  murdered  man  was 
discovered  within  three  minutes  after  the  fatal  deed,  it  was 
not  William  Juniper,  but  Benjamin  Hurst  that  was  found 
standing  over  the  corpse  ! 

And  yet  in  the  very  face  of  these  facts  the  Earl  of  Well- 
rose  felt  convinced,  not  only  of  Benjamin  Hurst's  innocence 
but  also  of  William  Juniper's  guilt. 

Under  these  circumstances  how  should  he  proceed  ? 

Should  he  denounce  Suzy's  brother  to  the  proper  author- 
ities, and  thus  become  the  fatal  agent  in  bringing  him  to 
trial,  and  perhaps  to  condemnation  and  death  ? 

It  was  a  horrible  thought ! 

But  even  if  he  could  bring  himself  to  accuse  William 
Juniper  of  the  murder  of  Stuart  Fitzroy,  what  evidence 
had  he  to  put  forward  in  support  of  his  accusation? 

None  whatever,  except  his  own  firm  moral  conviction. 
And  moral  conviction  however  firm,  is  not  legal  evidence. 

But  yet,  believing  and  feeling  as  he  did,  should  he  leave 
poor  Benjamin  Hurst  to  suffer  for  William  Juniper,  the  in- 
nocent for  the  guilty  ? 

His  painful  reverie  was  interrupted  by  the  dressing  bell, 
and  by  the  entrance  of  his  valet. 

He  dressed  and  went  down  to  the  drawing-room,  where 
he  found  his  mother  and  sisters,  the  still  beautiful  Duchess 
and  her  fair  daughters. 


COUNSEL     AND      CLIENT.  319 

They  were  discussing  some  matter  of  very  distressing 
interest,  for  even  their  fair,  calm  faces  bore  signs  of  much 
disturbance. 

"  How  very  shocking  !  "  murmured  the  Duchess  with  pale 
cheeks. 

Lord  Wellrose  thought  his  mother  was  referring  to  the 
recent  murder  in  Piccadilly,  and  as  she  had  not  addressed 
herself  to  him,  he  did  not  feel  called  upon  to  make  any  com- 
ment. The  next  words  undeceived  him. 

"  How  many  did  you  say  were  injured,  mamma  ? "  in- 
quired Lady  Hester. 

"  There  were  thirteen  unfortunates  killed  outright,  my 
love,  and  thirty-nine  dangerously  wounded,"  answered  the 
Duchess. 

"  Why,  what  has  happened  ?  "  inquired  Lord  Wellrose, 
aroused  from  his  abstraction. 

"Oh,  a  shocking  accident,  my  dear,  on  the  Paris  and 
Marseilles  Railroad ! — A  collision  between  the  express  and 
a  freight  train,  in  which  a  number  of  lives  have  been  lost  or 
endangered,"  answered  the  Duchess  with  a  shudder. 

"  Shocking,  indeed  !  Why,  I  had  not  heard  of  it !  "  said 
the  Earl. 

"  The  news  came  by  telegraph  to  the  evening  papers. 
There  are  but  few  particulars  given.  But  I  suppose  we 
shall  see  all  about  it  in  to-morrow  morning's  papers,"  re- 
plied the  Duchess. 

And  at  that  moment  the  sliding  doors  were  run  back,  and 
the  groom  of  the  chambers  appeared,  and  said : 

"  Her  Grace  is  served." 

"My  father  does  not  dine  at  home  to-day?"  inquired 
the  Earl,  as  he  gave  his  mother  his  arm,  to  lead  her  in  to 
dinner. 

"  No,  he  is  at  Windsor.  There  is  a  cabinet  council," 
answered  the  Duchess,  and  the  subject  was  dropped. 

The  next  morning  the  young  Earl  called  by  appointment 


320  A     NOBLE      LORD. 

at  Park  Lane,  to  escort  Suzy  on  her  distressing  visit  to  poor 
Benjamin  Hurst. 

On  reaching  the  house,  he  was  shown  at  once  into  the 
Hose  Parlor  where  he  found  Suzy  with  her  bonnet  on,  wait- 
ing for  him.  The  poor  girl  had  changed,  even  within  the 
last  twenty-four  hours.  She  was  fearfully  pale  and  wasted, 
though  her  manner  was  more  composed  than  it  had  been 
on  the  preceding  day. 

"Oh,  Lord  Wellrose,  you  did  not  quiet  me  with  false 
hopes  yesterday,  did  you  ?  You  would  not  have  given  me 
false  hopes  even  for  that  purpose,  would  you  ?  "  she  inquired, 
in  a  beseeching  voice. 

"  Indeed  I  would  not,  my  dearest  one ! "  he  answered 
earnestly. 

"And  Benny  is  really  in  no  imminent  danger?  " 

"  Indeed,  no.     He  is  nearly  sure  to  be  acquitted." 

"  Nearly  sure !  "  sighed  Suzy.  "  Oh,  Lord  Wellrose,  how 
awful  to  think  that  there  should  be  the  remotest  chance  of 
his  conviction  !  "  she  cried,  wringing  her  hands. 

"  Believe  me,  I  do  not  think  that  there  is.  The  evidence 
is  not  sufficient  to  convict  him ;  and  besides,  we  have  re- 
tained Mr.  Percy  Melliss,  the  greatest  criminal  lawyer  in 
Europe,  for  his  defence." 

"  Oh,  a  hundred  thousand  thanks  for  all  your  goodness — " 
began  Suzy,  but  the  Earl  gently  stopped  her  by  inquiring 
if  they  should  set  out  for  their  visit  then. 

She  readily  assented,  and  he  led  her  to  the  carriage  that 
stood  waiting  at  the  door. 

"And  oh,  Lord  Wellrose,  I  wished  to  speak  to  you  about 
another  matter.  You  must  know  that  my  brother  left  me 
four  days  ago  to  proceed  to  Paris  on  my  affairs." 

"I  understood  so;  yes,"  replied  the  Earl,  wondering. 

"  He  was  to  see  the  manager  of  the  Theatre  Frangais  by 
appointment,  and  make  arrangements  for  my  engagement 
there." 


COUNSEL     AND     CLIENT.  321 

"  Yes,"  said  the  Earl,  seeing  that  Suzy  paused. 

"  Well,  he  should  have  been  there  the  evening  of  the 
same  day  upon  which  he  left  here." 

"  Certainly." 

"  And  now,  the  queerest  part  of  the  business  is,  that  he 
did  not  get  there  at  all !  " 

"  No ! "  exclaimed  the  Earl,  all  the  more  interested 
because  of  the  suspicion  that  had  entered  his  mind,  connect- 
ing Suzy's  missing  brother  with  the  murder  of  Stuart  Fitz- 
roy. 

"  No,  indeed.  And  while  I  have  been  waiting  here,  expect- 
ing every  hour  either  to  see  or  to  hear  from  nay  brother,  this 
morning  comes  a  telegram  from  the  manager  of  the  Theatre 
Franc,ais,  inquiring  what  has  delayed  my  agent,  that  he 
does  not  come  to  treat  with  him  according  to  agreement. 
Now,  what  do  you  think  of  that,  Lord  Wellrose  ?  " 

"  He  may  have  been  taken  sick  on  the  road,"  suggested 
his  lordship,  doubtfully. 

"  So  he  may  ;  but  then  he  would  have  written,  or  he 
would  have  got  some  one  else  to  write,"  said  Suzy.  "  And 
oh,  Lord  Wellrose,  there  has  been  a  most  awful  railway 
accident  in  France !  "  she  added,  growing  paler. 

"  I  know  it,  my  love ;  a  very  horrible  catastrophe  indeed, 
profoundly  to  be  deplored.  But  it  does  not  concern  your 
brother  in  the  least." 

"  Ah,  I  don't  know.  He  may  have  been  one  of  the  vic- 
tims." 

"  But,  my  dearest,  your  brother  was  travelling,  if  I  under- 
stand you,  from  Dover  to  Paris.  And  this  accident  hap- 
pened between  Paris  and  Marseilles." 

"Yes,  I  know;  I  thought  of  that,  but  still—"  She 
paused  and  sighed. 

"  Still  ?  "  echoed  the  Earl,  with  an  inquiring  smile. 

"  Still  I  fear — 1  know  not  what,  or  why.     Perhaps  I  am 
a  woman  naturally  born  to  fears,'  as  poor  Constance  says 
20 


322  A     NOBLE      LORD. 

And  where  there  is  doubt  or  danger,  I  fear  the  worst, 
rationally  or  irrationally." 

As  she  spoke,  the  carriage  drew  up  before  the  gloomy 
walls  of  Newgate. 

Upon  the  Earl's  application,  they  were  at  once  admitted 
within  the  building,  and  conducted  first  to  the  chaplain's 
room. 

The  venerable  man  received  the  young  Earl  with  grave 
respect.  And  when  the  latter  presented  Suzy,  he  shook 
her  hands  with  much  kindness  of  manner. 

At  the  Earl's  request,  he  willingly  consented  to  accom- 
pany them  to  the  cell  of  the  prisoner  Hurst. 

He  rang  for  the  proper  officer  to  attend  the  party,  and 
they  immediately  went  thither. 

They  found  the  j'oung  prisoner  in  consultation  with  his 
counsel,  who  had  arrived  about  an  hour  before. 

"  We  interrupt  3*011,"  said  the  chaplain,  who  preceded  the 
party  into  the  cell. 

"Not  at  all.  I  was  just  leaving,"  replied  Mr.  Percy 
Melliss,  gathering  up  his  papers  to  go. 

He  shook  hands  with  his  client,  bade  him  keep  up  his 
spirits,  and  then  came  out  of  the  cell  and  bowed  to  the  Earl 
and  the  lady,  and  hurried  away. 

"  That  is  Percy  Melliss,  the  great  criminal  advocate.  I 
should  have  presented  him  to  you,  had  he  not  hurried  away 
so  fast,"  said  the  Earl,  as  they,  in  their  turn,  entered  the 
cell. 

The  care  of  the  Earl  had  already  improved  its  appear- 
ance. 

The  stone  floor  was  covered  with  a  thick  carpet,  two  com- 
fortable chairs  and  a  small  stand  covered  with  books  stood 
against  the  wall,  and  clean  bedding  and  white  draperies 
covered  the  bunk. 

"  I  owe  you  many  thanks,  Lord  Well  rose,  for  the  many 
comforts  you  have  so  kindly  sent  me.  The  upholsterer  was 


COONSEL     AND      CLIENT.  323 

here  as  soon  as  the  doors  were  opened  this  morning,  to  fit 
up  my  cell.  I  thank  your  lordship  very  much  indeed ! " 
said  Benjamin,  earnestly,  as  he  arose  to  welcome  the  Earl. 

"  There,  there !  I  have  done  nothing  worth  mentioning, 
my  good  fellow.  But  here  is  a  friend  come  to  see  you," 
said  the  Earl,  as  he  handed  Suzy  into  the  cell. 

"  Oh,  my  dear  Benny !  "  exclaimed  Suzy,  in  a  low  voice, 
as  she  held  out  both  hands  to  the  young  prisoner  and  burst 
into  tears. 

"  Don't  cry.  Indee-d  it  is  not  so  very  bitter  to  be  here, 
when  friends  are  so  kind,"  said  Benny,  earnestly. 

"  Ah  !  poor  brother !  You  have  had  so  little  kindness 
and  sympathy  in  your  life,  that  you  reconcile  yourself  even 
to  a  prison  when  it  brings  friends  around  you,"  wept  Suzy. 

"And  who  would  not?  'Love  is  the  greatest  good  in 
the  world.'  And  I  did  not  know  that  any  loved  me,  until  I 
got  into  this  trouble,"  said  the  young  man,  smiling. 

"Oh,  Benny!"  sighed  Suzy.  Then  changing  her  tone 
as  she  sat  down  beside  him,  she  said,  "  Benny,  you.  are  doing 
now  exactly  what  you  did  fifteen  years  ago.  You  are  in- 
nocently suffering  for  the  guilt  of  another.  You  are  shield- 
ing with  your  own  person  the  real  criminal!  Oh,  Benny! 
if  not  for  your  own  sake,  for  my  sake,  clear  yourself  by 
giving  him  up  to  justice.  Yes,  even  if  he  were  my  own 
brother,  I  should  still  implore  you  not  to  sacrifice  yourself 
for  him,  but  to  clear  your  own  innocent  name  and  fame  by 
giving  him  up  to  justice,"  said  Suzy,  utterly  unsuspicious 
that  it  was  her  own  brother,  for  whom  the  poor  young  man 
was  offering  himself  up. 

"  Dear  Suzy,"  said  the  prisoner,  "  If  you  really  care  for 
me,  speak  no  more  of  this.  I  cannot  stir  from  the  ground  I 
have  taken." 

"Then  you  admit  that  you  are  shielding  some  one?" 
inquired  the  weeping  girl. 

"No,  I  do  not  admit  anything  of  the  sort,"  said  Benny 


324  A      NOBLE      LORD. 

gently.  "But  listen,  Suzy.  I  am  in  no  sort  of  danger  of 
conviction.  My  counsel  assures  me  that  the  prosecution  has 
no  case  to  go  upon  at  all — that  I  shall  be  certainly  acquitted 
by  the  jury." 

"  Oh,  Benny,  yes !  but  will  you  be  acquitted  by  public 
opinion  ?  Will  not  suspicion  cling  to  you  for  the  rest  of 
your  life  ?  Will  not  you  still  suffer  and  continue  to  suffer 
for  the  guilt  of  another  ?  " 

"  Suzy,  even  if  your  theory  were  correct,  which  I  do  not 
admit,  still,  would  it  not  be  better  that  I  should  suffer  some 
suspicions  than  that  another,  more  unfortunate  than  guilty, 
should  suffer  the  extreme  penalty  of  the  law ;  and  all  con- 
nected with  him  should  be  plunged  in  unmerited  shame  and 
sorrow  ?  " 

"  No,"  answered  Suzy,  with  sudden  energy.  " '  Let 
justice  be  done,  though  the  Heavens  fall.'  A  guilty  man 
had  better  die  for  his  crime  than  an  innocent  one  suffer  the 
slightest  unjust  suspicion  through  him !  What  do  you 
think,  Lord  Wellrose?"  she  inquired,  turning  to  the  Earl, 
confident  also  of  his  answer. 

"I  agree  with  you  perfectly;  a  falsely  accused  man  should 
clear  himself  at  whatever  cost  to  the  real  criminal," 
answered  the  Earl. 

"  But  if  the  falsely  accused  man  should  be  quite  alone  in 
the  world,  while  the  guilty  man  should  have  father  and 
mother,  brothers  and  sisters,  who  would  be  brought  to  shame 
and  sorrow  by  his  exposure  and  punishment,  then  would  not 
the  falsely  accused  be  justified  at  least  in  keeping  silence  ?" 
earnestly  inquired  Benny. 

"  By  no  means,"  emphatically  answered  the  Earl. 

As  he  spoke  the  door  was  opened,  a  visitor  was  announced, 
and  a  lady  dressed  with  Quakerly  simplicity,  in  a  gray 
gown,  shawl  and  bonnet,  entered  the  cell. 

She  bowed  to  the  lady  and  gentleman  present,  without 
recognizing  either,  and  then  advanced  to  speak  to  the  young 
prisoner. 


COUNSEL      AND      CLIENT.  325 

"  Benjamin  Hurst !  how  little  you  are  changed  except  in 
growth  !  Benjamin,  I  should  be  so  glad  to  meet  you  again, 
if  it  were  anywhere  else  than  here,"  she  said,  taking  his 
hand  and  pressing  it  affectionately. 

But  the  young  prisoner  gazed  on  her  in  dumb  amaze- 
ment. 

"  Why,  Benny,  you  don't  seem  to  know  me  at  all !  And 
I  should  have  known  you  anywhere  !  Look  at  me,  my  boy. 
Don't  you  recognize  me  now  ?  " 

"  Miss  Rachel  Wood  !  "  exclaimed  Benny,  in  joyful  sur- 
prise, starting  up  as  if  he  would  have  embraced  her,  then 
recollecting  himself,  blushing  and  sinking  back  on  his  seat, 
but  adding,  in  a  more  subdued  manner :  "  Oh,  I  am  so 
rejoiced  to  see  you  !  It  was  so  good  of  you  to  come  !  And, 
Miss  Rachel,  I  want  to  tell  you  at  once,  I  did  not  commit 
the  murder  for  which  I  am  to  be  tried." 

"  I  did  not  believe  you  did,  Bonn}' !  But  I  am  glad  to 
hear  you  say  so,  for  all  that,"  said  Rachel,  warmly. 

"Ah,  but  he  knows  who  did!  And  he  is  suffering 
innocently  for  the  guilty,  just  as  he  did  when  he  was  a  poor 
friendless  child  ! "  said  Suzy,  suddenly  breaking  into  the 
conversation. 

The  quiet,  Quakerly  looking  woman  turned  with  surprise 
to  gaze  upon  the  elegantly  dressed  young  lady  who  had 
spoken  to  her. 

"  You  do  not  recognize  me,  Miss  Rachel.  There  is  some 
one  else  besides  Benny,  it  seems,  who  has  a  short  memory 
for  faces.  I  am  Suzy,  and  I  am  very  glad  to  see  you  again," 
said  the  young  lad}',  offering  her  hand. 

"  Suzy  Juniper ! "  echoed  Rachel  Wood  in  surprise,  as 
she  took  the  delicately  gloved  little  hand  and  held  it  while 
she  gazed  in  the  lovely  face  of  the  young  girl. 

"  Yes,  Suzy  Juniper  !  And  now  do  you  recognize  me  ?  " 
inquired  Suzy,  smiling. 

"  Now  I  do.     But  I  should  scarcely  have  done  so,  if  you 


326  A      NOBLE      LORD. 

had  not  told  me  your  name.  You  are  more  changed  than 
Benjamin  Hurst  is,"  said  the  quiet,  Quakerly  woman,  gazing 
on  the  lovely  young  creature  before  her. 

"  Externally  I  am.  But  not  at  heart,  for  I  am  so  glad  to 
see  you,  Miss  Rachel !  It  is  like  old  times.  Are  you  not  a 
little  glad  to  see  ine,  too  ?  "  inquired  Suzy,  in  a  plaintive 
voice. 

"  Indeed  I  am,  my  dear,  and  greatly  surprised,"  said 
Rachel  Wood,  taking  the  kiss  that  Suzy  offered  in  the  over- 
flowing love  of  her  faithful  young  heart. 

"  And  the  Earl  of  Wellrose  ?  Surely,  Miss  Rachel,  you 
know  Lord  Wellrose  ?  He  is  one  of  the  visitors  of  the 
Duchess'  school,  where  you  are  the  matron,"  said  Suzy. 

And  the  Earl,  at  the  mention  of  his  own  name,  arose  and 
bowed,  and  resumed  his  seat. 

"  I  have  the  honor  of  some  slight  acquaintance  with  his 
lordship,'  said  Rachel,  returning  the  bow,  "  but  the  gentle- 
men visitors  of  the  school  have  more  to  do  with  the  teacher's 
department  than  with  the  matron's." 

"  Rachel !"  broke  in  Suzy,  once  more,  "  I  began  by  tell- 
ing you  that  Benjamin  Hurst  is  doing  now  in  his  manhood 
precisely  what  he  did  fifteen  years  ago,  in  his  friendless 
childhood  !  He  is  shielding  the  guilty  at  the  risk  of  his  own 
life  !  Oh,  Rachel,  please  unite  with  us  in  trying  to  persuade 
him  to  clear  himself  from  the  false  imputation  of  this 
crime." 

"  Miss  Rachel,  I  implore  you,  do  not  attempt  to  do  so. 
Do  not  distress  yourself  or  me  by  urging  a  course  that  I 
cannot  pursue,"  entreated  the  young  man. 

"We  must  trust  in  Providence  to  the  clearing  up  of  this 
mystery.  It  is  evident  that  Mr.  Hurst  will  not  clear  him- 
self at  the  expense  of  another,  even  when  that  other  is  the 
guilty  party.  Let  us  not  pursue  the  discussion,"  said  Lord 
Wellrose. 

Benjamin  Hurst  thanked  his  lordship  with  a  grateful  look. 


COUNSEL      AND      CLIENT.  327 

Aud  soon  after  this  the  visitors  departed,  after  having 
promised  to  return  the  next  day. 

Suzy  went  home  and  telegraphed,  and  then  wrote  to  the 
manager  of  the  Theatre  Frangais,  to  say  that  her  brother  and 
accredited  agent,  Mr.  William  Juniper  had  left  London  for 
Paris  on  the  third  of  the  current  month,  to  treat  with  him 
concerning  an  engagement  for  herself  and  troupe  at  the 
theatre  ;  that  she  had  been  daily  and  hourly  expecting  to  see 
him,  or  to  hear  from  him  on  the  subject  of  his  mission  ;  but 
up  to  the  date  of  her  letter,  she  had  neither  seen  nor  heard 
from  him ;  that  she  was  suffering  great  anxiety  on  her 
brother's  account ;  and  she  besought  the  manager  to  have 
inquiries  set  on  foot  in.  Paris,  as  she  feared  that  her  brother 
had  met  with  foul  play. 

The  manager  wrote  back  by  return  mail  to  say  that  he 
had  notified  the  Parisian  police  as  to  the  disappearance  of 
the  missing  young  gentleman,  and  that  he  would  write  again 
to  inform  Mademoiselle,  as  soon  as  anything  should  be  ascer- 
tained on  the  subject. 

But  day  after  day  passed  and  no  news  of  William  Juniper 
came  from  the  other  side  of  the  Channel,  and  Suzy's  anxiety 
daily  increased. 

The  term  of  her  engagement  at  the  Coveut  Garden  theatre 
expired,  and  she  positively  declined  all  overtures  toward  a 
reengagement  there,  or  a  new  engagement  anywhere  else. 

The  newspapers  reported  that  Mademoiselle  Arielle  had 
abruptly  left  the  stage,  and  left  it  for  ever ;  that  she  was 
suffering  from  a  slight  indisposition,  and  had  retired  only  for 
a  short  season  ;  that  she  had  entirely  lost  her  voice,  and  would 
never  sing  a  note  again  ;  that  she  was  about  to  start  on  a 
professional  tour  through  the  United  States  of  America ;  that 
she  was  going  to  be  married  to  a  German  grand  duke  ;  that 
she  was  going  into  a  French  convent  to  take  the  vail ;  that 
she  had  gone  to  the  Insane  Asylum. 

Every  rumor  was  inconsistent  with  every  other. 


3*28  A      NOBLE     LORD. 

And  every  new  report  contradicted  the  last  preceding  one. 

Meanwhile  Suzy  lingered  in  London,  living  in  strict 
retirement  at  her  little  palace  in  Park  Lane,  seeing  no 
company  but  the  Earl  of  Wellrose,  and  going  nowhere  but 
to  Newgate,  to  visit  the  poor  prisoner  there. 

Benny  bore  his  confinement  with  his  usual  patience  and 
fortitude,  and  waited  for  the  opening  of  the  Sessions  at  the 
Old  Bailey. 

A  fortnight  had  passed  in  this  way,  when  one  morning 
an  event  occurred  that  changed  the  whole  aspect  of  affairs 
so  far  as  the  young  prisoner  at  Newgate  was  concerned. 

It  was  the  day  before  the  opening  of  the  Sessions. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

STARTLING     NEWS. 
Ring  out  the  old  1    Ring  in  the  new ! — TENKYSOK. 

THE  Earl  of  Wellrose  was  sitting  with  Benny  in  his  cell, 
and  speaking  words  of  comfort  and  encouragement,  to  pre- 
pare him  to  meet  his  arraignment  with  cheerfulness  and 
strength,  when  the  door  was  suddenly  thrown  open,  and 
Percy  Melliss,  accompanied  by  the  governor  of  the  jail,  and 
the  high  sheriff  of  the  county,  entered  the  cell.  The  faces 
of  all  three  bore  signs  of  unusual  disturbance,  though  it 
seemed  to  be  of  a  pleasant  nature. 

Lord  Wellrose  and  Benjamin  Hurst  looked  at  them  and 
at  each  other,  expecting — they  knew  not  what. 

The  three  new-comers  bowed  to  the  Earl,  and  then  Mr. 
Percy  Melliss  turned  to  Benny,  and  said,  with  some  excite- 
ment : 

"  Mr.  Hurst,  you  can  bear  trouble  with  great  fortitude. 
Can  you  bear  happiness  as  well?  " 


STARTLING      NEWS.  329 

Benny  looked  at  his  questioner  with  surprise,  and  then, 
as  a  gleam  of  his  old  humor  twinkled  in  his  eyes,  he 
answered  : 

"  I  don't  know.  The  experiment  has  never  been  tried 
upon  me." 

"  I  think  you  can  bear  it,  however,"  said  the  lawyer,  with 
a  smile.  "  Now  listen,  Mr.  Hurst.  And  Lord  Wellrose, 
you  too  will  be  astonished  I  I  am  glad,  however,  that  Miss 
Suzy  is  not  here  to-day.  If  she  had  been,  our  communica- 
tion must  have  been  deferred  until  her  departure. 

"  It  seems  to  me  that  you  are  taking  unusual  pains  to 
prepare  us  for  something,"  said  Lord  Wellrose,  with  a  smile 
not  devoid  of  curiosity. 

"  Yes,  I  am  preparing  you  for  something.  Benjamin 
Hurst  I  "  he  said,  turning  to  the  prisoner,  "  we  bring  an 
order  for  your  immediate  discharge.  You  are  entirely 
cleared  from  all  imputation  of  guilt.  You  are  a  free  man 
from  this  hour." 

"  Thank  God  I  "  exclaimed  the  astonished  and  delighted 
prisoner,  even  without  knowing  or  suspecting  the  cause  of 
his  deliverance.  "  Oh,  thank  God  !" 

And  he  burst  into  tears  of  joy  and  gratitude. 

"  Mr.  Hurst,  I  am  delighted,"  added  Percy  Melliss, 
warmly  grasping  and  shaking  the  hand  of  the  young  man. 

"  I  congratulate  you  with  all  my  heart  though  I  do  not, 
in  the  least,  understand  the  turn  affairs  have  taken.  God 
bless  you,  Benjamin  Hurst,"  said  Lord  Wellrose,  earnestly 
shaking  his  hand. 

"  Thanks,  thanks,"  said  Benny,  half  choked  with  emotion. 

The  Governor  of  the  gaol  then  begged  permission  to  read 
the  order  for  the  prisoner's  discharge,  and  he  read  it. 

"  But  how  came  all  this  about.?  "  inquired  the  Earl. 

"  Let  us  get  out  of  this  place  first,  and  then  I  will  tell 
you.  It  is  a  strange  story,  not  without  its  sorrow  for  some 
concerned,  though  in  fact  my  pleasure  at  the  vindication  of 


3^0  A      NOBLE      LORD. 

my    client   here    made  me  forget  that.     Come  !     I  have  a 
four-wheeled  cab  at  the  door.     Come,  Mr.  Hurst.     My  Lord, 
will  you  accompany  us  ? 
,    "  Certainly,"  said  Lord  Wellrose,  rising. 

Benny  was  already  standing  with  his  hat  in  his  hand. 

They  left  the  dark  and  gloomy  prison  and  went  out  into 
the  street,  where  the  afternoon  sun  was  shining  brightly. 

"  We  will  drive  to  the  Morley  House  and  take  a  private 
parlor  for  an  hour  or  two,  if  your  lordship  pleases?"  said 
Mr.  Melliss. 

"  Certainly,"  said  the  Earl. 

And  they  all  entered  a  cab  that  was  waiting  before  the 
door,  and  Mr.  Melliss  gave  the  order  to  drive  to  the  Morley 
House. 

When  they  arrived  there,  Mr.  Melliss,  who  acted  for  the 
little  party,  got  out  and  engaged  a  private  parlor,  to  which  he 
ordered  refreshments  to  be  brought,  and  in  which  the  three 
soon  found  themselves  comfortably  seated  around  a  table, . 
with  a  bottle  of  light  wine  and  a  plate  of  biscuits  before 
them. 

Here  Mr.  Percy  Melliss  told  his  strange  story.  It  was 
in  brief  this : 

That  among  the  victims  of  the  fatal  accident  on  the 
Paris  and  Marseilles  Railroad,  was  William  Juniper,  who, 
though  not  instantly  killed,  was  fatally  injured. 

He  had  been  dragged  from  beneath  the  ruins  of  a  railway 
carriage,  and  conveyed,  in  an  insensible  condition,  to  the 
nearest  house,  where,  for  several  days,  he  lingered  in  a  state 
of  coma. 

Just  before  his  death,  as  often  happens  in  such  cases,  he 
came  to  his  senses,  and  to  the  full  consciousness  of  his  con- 
dition. 

His  first  act  was  then  to  ask  for  the  attendance  of  a  cler- 
gyman.and  a  magistrate. 

And  in  answer  to  his  call,  the  venerable  cure  of  the  par- 
ish and  a  notary  from  the  village  came  to  his  bedside. 


STARTLING      NEWS.  831 

To  them  he  made  a  full  confession  of  the  unintentional 
murder  that  he  had  committed,  and  that  had  driven  him 
from  his  native  country. 

This  confession  was  taken  down  from  his  lips  in  writing, 
and  duly  sworn  to,  signed,  witnessed,  sealed  and  dispatched 
to  the  proper  authorities  in  London. 

It  had  arrived  on  that  day.  And  the  order  for  the 
release  of  Benjamin  Hurst  had  been  immediately  sent  to 
the  sheriff  and  the  governor  of  Newgate. 

These  two  officers,  glad  to  be  the  emissaries  of  deliverance 
to  the  prisoner,  were  on  their  way  to  his  cell,  for  the  pur- 
pose of  discharging  him,  when  they  were  joined  by  Mr. 
Percy  Melliss,  who,  ignorant  of  what  had  happened,  had 
come  for  a  last  consultation  with  his  client  before  the  trial. 

The  sheriff  told  him  of  the  pleasing  nature  of  their 
errand,  and  he  was  of  course  sincerely  delighted  with  the 
turn  affairs  had  taken. 

So  Mr.  Percy  Melliss  had  scarcely  heard  the  good  news 
two  minutes  before  he  communicated  it  to  his  client. 

"  But,  oh  Heaven !  this  news  that  has  saved  me,  what 
will  it  do  for  her,  the  dead  man's  sister?  "  sighed  Benny. 

"  She  is  just  and  right-minded.  And  although  there  will 
be  the  natural  grief  for  the  lost  brother,  yet  she  will  suffer 
less  than  she  would  have  done,  had  you  remained  under 
the  heavy  imputation  of  blood-guiltiness.  She  will  know, 
besides,  that  there  has  been  no  murder  in  the  case,  since 
there  was  no  intention  to  kill.  In  due  time  she  will  take 
comfort,"  said  Mr.  Percy  Melliss. 

"Ah,  she  will  be  awfully  shocked  by  the  news.  Who 
will  venture  to  break  it  to  her?  "  murmured  the  young  man 
sorrowfully. 

"  That  will  I,"  answered  the  Earl  of  Wellrose  gravely,  as 
he  arose  from  the  table. 

"  Ah,  my  lord,  it  will  be  a  most  painful  task  ! "  said 
Benny. 


332  A      NOBLE      LORD. 

"  I  know  it,"  murmured  the  Earl.  And  then,  after  a 
pause,  he  said  :  "  Mr.  Hurst,  will  you  do  me  a  favor  ?  " 

"  Assuredly,  my  lord." 

"  Will  you  then,  follow  my  advice  to  you — which  is,  to 
take  a  room  here  for  the  present,  and  wait  till  I  can  have 
an  opportunity  of  consulting  with  you  about  your  future 
career  ?  " 

"  I  will,  Lord  Wellrose,  with  thanks,"  replied  Benjamin, 
who,  from  some  occult  reason,  arising  out  of  their  uncon- 
scious blood  relationship,  or  from  some  hidden  sympathy  or 
pure  love  and  trust,  or  from  all  these  causes  combined,  never 
felt  the  slightest  sense  of  humiliation  in  receiving  favors 
from  his  unknown  brother. 

"  Quite  right.  Good-day,  then.  I  will  see  you  to-morrow 
morning.  Good-day,  Mr.  Melliss,"  said  the  Earl.  And 
bowing  to  both  his  late  companions,  he  left  the  room. 

Outside  he  took  a  hansom  and  drove  to  Park  Lane  to 
break  the  news  of  her  brother's  death  to  Suzy. 

He  sent  in  his  card,  and  in  a  few  moments  was  invited 
into  the  drawing-room,  where  he  was  received  by  Mrs. 
Brown. 

The  housekeeper's  face  wore  the  traces  of  recent  tears,  and 
her  manner  was  very  grave  as  she  greeted  Lord  Wellrose, 
and  said : 

"  I  hope  your  lordship  will  excuse  Miss  Juniper  this 
morning.  She  has  just  heard  of  the  shocking  death  of  her 
brother,  and — " 

"  She  has  heard  it  then  !  From  whom  ?  Who  has  in- 
cautiously shocked  her  with  the  news  ? "  exclaimed  the 
Earl. 

"  No  one  did,  sir.  She  received  a  letter  this  morning 
from  the  French  priest  who  attended  her  brother  on  his 
death-bed.  He  died  a  Christian,  I  am  happy  to  say,  sir. 
Poor  young  man  !  His  head  was  a  little  turned  with  the 
company  he  kept,  but  his  heart  was  not  bad,"  said  the 


STARTLING      NEWS.  333 

housekeeper,  willing  to  say  all  thjs  good  she  could  of  the  poor 
boy  cut  off  in  the  flower  of  his  wild  youth. 

"  No,"  said  the  Earl.  And  then,  "  How  is  Miss  Juniper 
this  morning  ?  " 

"  Sir,  she  has  been  in  hysterics  ever  since  she  got  the 
news  until  about  fifteen  minutes  ago,  when  we  gave  her  an 
opiate,  which  composed  her.  She  is  now  sleeping  quietly." 

"  Keep  her  so,"  said  the  Earl,  as  he  arose  to  go.  "  And 
please  to  tell  her  when  she  awakes  that  I  have  been  here, 
and  will  call  at  this  hour  to-morrow,  when  I  hope  she  will 
be  able  to  receive  me." 

And  he  bowed  and  left  the  house. 

The  next  morning,  when  he  called  at  Park  Lane,  Suzy 
received  him  in  her  Rose  Parlor.  And  though  she  was 
deadly  pale,  she  was  perfectly  calm  and  collected,  and  she 
met  him  with  quiet  courtesy. 

In  reply  to  his  expressions  of  sympathy  and  condolence, 
and  to  his  implied  rather  than  expressed  questions  as  to  her- 
self, she  answered  that  she  should  leave  that  day  for  France 
to  be  present  at  her  brother's  funeral ;  that  soon  afterward 
she  should  sail  for  Australia,  to  make  a  visit  of  duty  to  her 
parents. 

"  They  must  inevitably  hear  of  their  bereavement,  you 
know,  Lord  Wellrose.  And  it  is  better  that  they  should 
have  the  comfort  of  a  visit  from  me  at  the  same  time,"  said 
Suzy. 

"  You  are  quite  right,  dearest,"  said  the  Earl  kindly. 

He  staid  a  long  time  with  her  that  morning,  and  with  a 
promise  to  meet  her  at  the  railway  station,  and  escort  her  to 
Dover  to  see  her  on  board  the  Calais  boat,  he  left  her. 

From  Park  Lane  he  went  immediately  to  Trafalgar 
Square,  and  called  at  the  Morley  House  to  see  Benny. 

The  young  man  received  his  visitor  in  his  small  bed  room 
on  the  third  floor — the  only  apartment  that  his  limited 
means  could  command. 


334  A     NOHLE      LORD. 

"Now,  my  dear  fellow,  1  have  come  on  business.  I  wish 
to  settle  with  you  to-day  about  your  future  career.  You  are 
quite  young  enough  to  strike  out  into  a  new  path.  Now 
what  path  would  you  like  to  take — the  church,  the  law, 
medicine,  the  army,  or  the  navy  ?  Take  time  to  think,  be- 
fore deciding,"  said  the  Earl  kindly. 

"  If  I  might  choose — "  began  Benny.  And  then  he 
blushed  like  a  girl,  and  paused. 

"  Choose  !  It  is  what  I  desire  you  to  do.  What  would 
you  like  ?  " 

"All  j'oung  England  is  arming  for  the  Crimean  war.  I 
should  like  to  enter  the  army." 

Ah,  poor  boy  !  He  had  never  known  his  father,  yet  he 
had  inherited  his  father's  martial  passion.  William  Douglas 
had  also  wanted  "  to  enter  the  army." 

Lord  Wellrose  reflected  for  a  few  moments,  during  which 
Benny  misinterpreted  his  silence,  and  hastened  to  say : 

"  Ah,  forgive  me,  my  lord  !  I  spoke  impulsively  and 
•without  discretion.  I  know  now  how  improper  my  wish  is, 
since  I  have  not  the  ph}Tsical  powers  of  endurance  that 
would  fit  me  to  be  a  common  soldier  in  war  time,  nor  yet  the 
education  that  would  prepare  me  for  the  duties  of  an  officer. 
You  are  right,  my  lord." 

"  You  mistake  me,  nay  dear  Hurst.  1  have  been  turning 
over  in  my  mind  the  best  and  quietest  way  of  meeting  your 
views.  And  I  have  found  it  now.  I  have  a  young  friend — 

Ensign  Charley  Blount,  of  the Regiment  of  foot.  His 

regiment  is  ordered  to  the  Crimea,  and  he  does  not  want  to 
go  there.  He  wishes  to  sell  out  and  stay  at  home.  Good  ! 
His  commission  shall  be  purchased  for  you.  You  shall  enter 
the  army  and  go  to  the  war,  Mr.  Hurst ;  and  although  3^011 
enter  it  only  as  an  Ensign,  which  is  the  lowest  grade  of  com- 
missioned officer,  yet  I  feel  persuaded  that  you  will  rise." 


BENJAMIN'S    NEW    NAME.  335 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

BENJAMIN'S    NEW    NAME. 

Howe'er  it  be,  it  seems  to  me, 

"Tis  only  noble  to  be  good. 
Kind  hearts  are  more  than  coronets, 

And  simple  faith  than  Norman  blood. — TENNYSON. 

AND  since  "'tis  only  noble  to  be  good,"  tbe  young  Earl 
of  Wellrose  was  noble,  in  the  best  and  highest  sense  of  the 
word,  for  he  was  good — and  not  only  good,  but  wise  and 
brave. 

So  thought  poor  Benjamin  Hurst,  as  he  gazed  upon  his 
unknown  brother  and  generous  benefactor,  with  a  heart  too 
full  of  gratitude  for  words. 

"  This  is  the  third  day  of  this  month.  The  regiment  is 
expected  to  sail  on  the  first  of  the  next  mouth.  You  will 
have  four  weeks  for  preparation  ;  ample  time  ;  and  if  I  can 
give  you  any  assistance  in  any  shape,  I  am  very  heartily  at 
your  service,"  said  Lord  Wellrose  cordially. 

"  My  lord,"  faltered  Benny,  in  a  voice  choked  with  emo- 
tion, and  with  eyes  full  of  tears,  "  I  cannot  express  the 
thanks  that  fill  my  heart  to  breaking.  Oh,  my  good  lord, 
I  am  not  worthy  of  your  goodness,  and  if  you  knew  all  my 
past  life,  you  would  not  think  me  fit  to  fill  the  honorable 
position  your  generosity  would  obtain  for  me  !  I  do  wish  to 
enter  the  army,  but  I  am  only  fit  to  be  a  common  soldier, 
and  scarcely  fit  for  that ;  for  what  honest  soldier  would  con- 
sort, if  he  knew  it,  with  a  returned  convict  ?  Not  one ! 
Ah,  no  !  ah,  no  !  my  woeful  past  can  never  be  blotted  out !  " 
said  Benny,  burying  his  face  in  his  hands  and  groaning 
deeply. 

The  young  Earl  laid  his  hand  affectionately  on  the  out- 
cast's shoulder  and  said  : 

"  Your  past  life  of  bitter  wrong  and  unmerited  shame  can 


836  A      NOBLE      LORD. 

and  shall  be  blotted  out.  You  are  but  a  youth  still.  You 
shall  begin  life  anew  from  this  day.  You  are  true,  honest, 
courageous  and  very  intelligent.  You  have  educated  your- 
self under  difficulties  that  might  well  have  discouraged  the 
firmest  heart.  In  the  midst  of  undeserved  degradation  you 
have  prepared  yourself  for  an  honorable  career,  and  you 
shall  have  it,"  said  the  Earl,  with  much  emotion. 

"  Oh,  my  lord,  my  lord,  you  overwhelm  me  with  your 
goodness !  But  still  I  must  tell  you,  that  you  do  not  know 
all  of  my  past  life.  If  you  did  you  would  never  think  me 
a  fit — "  Benny's  voice  broke  down. 

"  My  boy,  I  do  know  all  your  past  life,  and  I  pronounce 
you  blameless  in  it  all ;  and  I  have  nothing  but  sympathy 
and  compassion,  and  finally  forgetful  ness,  to  bestow  upon 
it,"  said  the  Earl  kindly. 

"  Oh,  Lord  Wellrose,  there  is  something  behind  that  you 
do  not  know,  and  that  you  must  be  told  before  you  get  this 
Ensign's  commission  for  me,  and  throw  me  into  the  company 
of  gentlemen,"  said  Benny. 

"  Well,  well,  my  dear  boy,  if  there  be  any  circumstance 
connected  with  your  past  life  with  which  you  think  I  am 
not  acquainted,  and  which  you  wish  to  tell  me,  speak  now ; 
understanding,  however,  that  it  will  make  no  difference  in 
ray  views  and  purposes  toward  you." 

"Ah,  Lord  Wellrose,  you  think  you  know  the  worst,  but 
you  do  not.  You  know,  indeed,  that  I  was  brought  up 
among  thieves  and  beggars,  and  taught  to  do  their  deeds." 

"  You  were  not  to  be  blamed,  but  very  much  to  be  pitied 
for  that  misfortune." 

"  You  know  that  I  was  tried  for  burglary  and  convicted, 
and  sent  to  the  penal  colonies,  where  I  passed  fourteen 
years  in  the  company  of  felons." 

"  I  know  that  you  were  most  cruelly  and  unjustly  con- 
victed, and  that  you  passed  your  time  there  blamelessly, 
doing  your  appointed  work,  and  using  every  opportunity  for 


BENJAMIN'S    NEW    NAME.  337 

self-improvement,  and  that  you  educated  yourself  in  the 
face  of  the  most  appalling  obstacles.  Yes,  I  know  all  that. 
What  more  am  I  to  be  told  as  '  the  worst  ?  ' " 

"  My  lord,  you  know  that  I  was  the  companion  of  thieves, 
that  I  was  a  convict ;  but  you  do  not  know,  that  before  all 
that  I  was — "  Benny's  voice  broke  down,  so  that  he  could 
scarcely  go  on.  "  I  was — the  child  of  sin  and  shame,  name- 
less and  abandoned  from  my  birth." 

The  Earl  took  the  outcast's  hand,  and  held  it  affection- 
ately while  he  gravely  replied  : 

"  I  know  the  whole  story,  as  far  as  any  one  knows  it — as 
far  even  as  you  know  it  yourself.  The  sin  and  the  shame 
were  not  yours — not  yours,"  he  repeated. 

"  No,  not  mine,"  sighed  Benny,  "  but  yet  the  penalty 
and  the  punishment  must  fall  on  me ;  for  I  put  it  to  you, 
Lord  Wellrose — I  put  it  to  you,  in  common  honor,  whether 
you  can  properly  purchase  a  commission  for  me  that  will 
put  me  in  the  company  of  gentlemen — whether  these  gentle- 
men, if  they  knew  my  antecedents,  would  not  demand  my 
expulsion  from  among  them  ?  " 

"  My  dear  Benjamin,  if  they  should  know  your  antece- 
dents without  knowing  your  true  character — if  they  should 
know  your  penal  sufferings  without  knowing  your  perfect 
guilelessness — no  doubt  their  judgment  would  be  harsh  and 
their  actions  severe.  But  since  they  cannot  know  the  whole, 
they  shall  not  know  a  part.  Half  truth  is  always  so  decep- 
tive !  They  shall  know  nothing  of  your  past,  Benjamin. 
It  is,  in  fact,  none  of  their  business." 

"Oh,  Lord  Wellrose,  my  very  name — my  name,  which 
has  figured  so  much  in  the  police  reports  connected  with 
this  murder — my  name  would  betray  me ! "  said  Benny 
despondently. 

"I  have  been  thinking  of  that,  and  have  been  providing 
for  it,"  said  the  Earl. 

Benjamin  looked  up  inquiringly. 
21 


338  A     NOBLE     LORD. 

"  The  name  you  bear,  that  of  Benjamin  Hurst,  is  not  your 
own." 

"  No,"  said  the  poor  outcast  sadly,  "  I  have  not  even  a 
legal  right  to  the  name  I  bear,  since  I  am  not  the  son  of 
Magdalene  Hurst;  nor  have  I  even  a  Christian  right  to  it, 
since  I  have  never  been  baptized." 

"  Then  give  it  up.  Cast  it  off  with  the  slough  of  your 
past  life.  Begin  your  new  life  with  a  new  name — a  name 
that  I  will  give  you,  if  you  will  accept  it  at  my  hands — a 
right  noble  old  name  too,  my  family  name — Seton  Douglas ! 
And  Heaven  knows  that  you  may  have  a  natural,  if  not  a 
legal  right  to  it,  for  though  my  dear  father  is  a  sort  of  saint, 
yet  I  have  heard  that  there  have  been  some  wild  men  in 
our  family.  What  do  you  say  to  the  name,  Benjamin  ?  " 

Benny  had  turned  pale  as  death.  In  his  secret  soul  he 
had  lately  believed  that  he  was  a  disowned  or  unknown  rel- 
ative of  that  family,  and  he  had  longed  with  a  hopeless 
unuttered  longing,  to  bear  that  very  name. 

"Oh,  Lord  Wellrose,  nothing  on  earth  that  you  could 
bestow  on  me  would  make  me  so  happy  and  so  grateful  as 
the  possession  of  that  name.  I  will  never  do  anything  to 
dishonor  it !  "  he  said. 

"  I  am  very  sure  that  you  will  not.  So,  as  you  have 
never  been  baptized,  we  will  go  to  church  some  day  and 
have  you  baptized  and  registered  as  Benjamin  Seton  Doug- 
las. And  when  your  commission  shall  be  purchased,  as  it 
shall  be  in  a  day  or  two,  you  will  enter  her  Majesty's  service 
as  Ensign  Seton  Douglas.  And  now  I  must  leave  you  for 
the  present.  God  bless  you  ! "  said  the  Earl,  rising  to  go. 

"  One  moment,  my  lord.  I  distrust  myself  sadly.  Have 
I  education  enough  to  do  the  duties  of  an  ensign  ?  I  know 
nothing  whatever  of  military  tactics,"  said  Benny,  modestly. 

"You  have  education  enough.  You  do  not  require  to 
koow  much  of  military  tactics  to  be  an  ensign.  And  even 
if  you  did,  the  drill  sergeant  of  your  company  would  soon 


BENJAMIN'S    NEW    NAME.  339 

instruct  you.  But  the  duty  of  an  ensign  is  very  simple — 
just  to  bear  the  colors  of  his  company.  Besides — bless  us  ! 
— do  you  suppose  that  half  the  young  gentlemen  who 
receive  commissions  in  the  army  have  graduated  at  military 
academies  ?  By  no  means.  Not  a  tenth  part  of  them. 
They  have  to  go  into  camp  or  garrison  and  be  drilled  by  a 
sergeant.  And  some  of  them  are  too  lazy,  stupid  and  care- 
less to  learn.  You  are  neither,  I  am  sure,  so  take  heart  of 
grace,"  said  the  Earl,  smiling  happily  as  he  left  the  room, 
leaving  Benny  also  happier  than  he  had  ever  been  in  his 
life. 

Lord  Wellrose,  since  he  had  seen  so  much  of  Benjamin, 
and  noticed  the  extraordinary  likeness  the  poor  outcast  bore 
to  himself,  the  Earl,  and  heard  so  much  of  his  early  history, 
became  gradually  convinced  of  some  unknown  or  unac- 
knowledged relationship  existing  between  them. 

"  I  feel  sure  that  the  poor  boy  is  our  cousin  in  some 
degree — perhaps  in  a  very  near  degree.  He  may  be  our 
first  cousin.  At -all  events,  since  he  has  been  so  cruelly 
abandoned  and  bitterly  wronged,  I  will  do  what  I  can  to 
repair  his  injuries  and  atone  for  the  sins  of  his  parents,"  he 
thought,  as  he  entered  his  cab  and  gave  the  order: 

"  To  Cheviot  House." 

He  thought  of  speaking  to  his  mother  of  Benjamin's  sad 
story.  Ah  !  if  he  only  had  done  so  !  But  the  subject  was 
a  delicate  one  for  him  to  Abroach,  and  so,  upon  reflection,  he 
abandoned  the  idea. 

The  next  morning  the  Earl  of  Wellrose  set  about  the 
business  that  was  so  dear  to  his  heart.  His  name,  influence 
and  wealth  so  soon  effected  his  object,  that  in  two  days  more 
he  had  the  happiness  of  placing  in  his  protege's  hand  the 
document  that  commissioned  him  as  Ensign  Benjamin 

Seton  Douglas,  in  her   Majesty's  regiment  of   Foot. 

He  received  his  commission  on  the  sixth  of  the  month,  with 
orders  to  join  his  Regiment  on  the  twenty-first. 


340 


A     NOBLE     LORD. 


The  same  day  Benjamin  called  by  appointment  on  Suzy. 
This  was  the  first  occasion  upon  which  he  had  seen  her  since 
her  brother's  death  and  death-bed  confession,  and  his  own 
consequent  release  from  prison. 

Suzy  received  him  in  a  plainly  furnished  little  sitting- 
room.  She  had  never  occupied  the  gay  and  beautiful  Hose 
Parlor  since  the  death  of  her  brother.  She  was  dressed  in 
deep  mourning,  and  it  may  have  been  that  the  intense 
blackness  of  her  dress  made  her  face  appear  even  paler  than 
it  was,  for  it  seemed  marble  white  now. 

She  advanced  to  meet  her  visitor  very  kindly,  saying 
softly. 

"  Oh,  Benny,  I  am  so  rejoiced  that  you  are  free,  and  fully 
vindicated !  Oh,  my  dear  boy,  when  I  think  of  the  sacrifice 
}-ou  were  about  to  make  for  me — more  than  the  sacrifice  of 
3'our  life — when  I  think  of  how  you  meant  to  die  with  a 
load  of  unmerited  ignominy  on  your  memory  for  my  sake, 
to  save  my  brother's  life  and  my  name  from  reproach,  0 
Benny,  I  think  that  I  and  all  my  fame  and  all  my  fortune, 
if  I  could  give  all  to  you,  would  be  too  little  to  repay  you  ! 
But  you  are  vindicated  and  released.  Oh,  I  rejoice,  and 
thank  God  that  you  are,  my  brother  !  my  dearest  brother  !  " 
she  said,  taking  both  his  hands  and  pressing  them  to  her 
heart. 

"  Dear  Suzy,  it  is  very  sweet  to  hear  you  say  this — very 
sweet  and  comforting.  But,  little  sister,  I  cannot  fully 
rejoice  in  my  freedom,  since  it  has  come  at  such  a  cost  to 
you,"  said  the  young  man,  with  emotion,  as  he  took  the  seat 
she  offered  him. 

"  Don't,  Benny,  don't  say  that.  It  is  best  as  it  is.  Since 
my  poor  misguided  brother  had  the  misfortune  to  do  that 
fatal  deed  that  made  him  a  fugitive  from  justice,  and  left 
you  to  suffer  unjustly  in  his  place,  it  is  best — oh,  so  much 
best — as  it  is !  Think,  Benny,  deep  as  my  sorrow  is  for  the 
sudden  loss  of  my  poor  brother,  how  much  deeper  it  must 


BENJAMIN'S    NEW    NAME.  341 

have  been  had  you  suffered  death  in  his  stead,  for  his  deed! 
Think  what  my  anguish  and  despair  must  have  been,  to 
have  discovered  that  when  it  was  too  late !  Benny,  the 
knowledge  would  have  sent  me  to  my  grave,  or  to  a  lunatic 
asylum.  It  is  best  as  it  is.  This  I  can  bear.  I  have  the 
comfort  of  knowing,  through  his  death-bed  confession,  that 
he  did  not  intentionally  commit  murder.  The  man  Fitzroy 
richly  deserved  to  be  knocked  down  by  the  brother  of  the 
woman  whom  he  had  insulted  and  traduced.  But  his  death 
•was  as  much  an  accident  as  if  he  had  fallen  down.  My 
brother  was  guiltless  of  intentional  homicide;  and  you  are 
vindicated  and  released.  It  is  best  as  it  is.  And  now  let 
us  talk  of  something  else — of  your  new  name  and  your 
commission.  Ensign  Douglas,  I  congratulate  you ! "  she 
said,  with  a  smile,  as  she  offered  him  her  hand. 

He  took  the  little  hand  and  pressed  it  to  his  lips. 

"  Oh,  my  dear  Benny.  I  am  so  glad,  for  your  sake  !  "  she 
continued,  now  speaking  earnestly.  "  I  honor  the  Earl  of 
Wellrose  even  much  more  than  I  ever  did  before,  for  his 
appreciation  of  and  kindness  to  you.  You  are  going  out  as 
an  Ensign;  come  back  as  a  General,  Benny!  And  then 
•who  knows  but  it  may  be,  '  Rise  up,  Sir  Benjamin  Douglas  ! ' 
Stranger  things  have  happened,"  she  said,  with  a  smile. 

Benny  laughed. 

"  All  cannot  rise  like  you,  dear  Suzy.  I  shall  do  my 
best;  but  I  never  expect  to  rise  higher  than  a  lieutenancy, 
at  the  very  most,"  he  said. 

"  Where  is  your  regiment  stationed,  Benny  ?  "  she  asked. 

"At  Southampton." 

"And  when  do  you  join  it?  " 

«  On  the  20th  of  this  month." 

"  Just  two  weeks  from  to-day,"  said  Suzy,  after  some  little 
calculation. 

"  Yes." 

"And  when  does  the  regiment  sail  for  the  Crimea?" 


342  A      NOBLE      LORD. 

"  On  or  about  the  first  of  next  month,  Suzy." 

"  Let  me  see :  an  ensign  is  the  color-bearer  of  his 
companj',  is  lie  not?"  she  inquired,  with  some  interest. 

"  Yes,  in  a  company  of  Foot ;  but  in  a  company  of  Horse, 
the  color-bearer  is  called  a  cornet,"  explained  the  young 
man. 

"  I  wish  you  had  been  commissioned  as  a  cornet  in  a 
company  of  horse,  then.  I  like  Horse  better  than  Foot," 
said  Suzy. 

"  So  do  I ;  but  '  beggars  must  not — '  You  know  the 
proverb,  Suzy." 

"  Oh,  yes  ;  and  you  are  very  fortunate — very,  very  fortu- 
nate !  And  the  Earl  is  very  kind.  Commissions  are  not 
always  to  be  got,  even  by  those  who  are  able  to  buy  them — 
and  a  choice  of  commissions  hardly  ever.  Well,  so  you  are 
the  color-bearer  of  your  company !  Then  I  shall  do  myself 
the  honor  of  presenting  your  company  with  as  handsome  a 
pair  of  colors  as  can  possibly  be  manufactured.  And,  mind 
you,  be  sure  to  plant  them  on  the  towers  of  St.  Petersburg, 
if  there  be  any  towers  there — I  know  nothing  about  them 
myself." 

"I  will  do  it,  if  I  die  for  it! "  said  Benny,  rashly,  never 
stopping  to  consider  that  the  allies  might  never  be  per- 
mitted to  reach  St.  Petersburg,  or  that,  if  they  did,  his 
regiment  might  not  be  with  them,  or  if  it  should  be,  he 
might  not  be  living ;  he  never  thought,  in  a  word,  of  the 
thousand  accidents  that  might  prevent  him  from  keeping 
his  rash  vow — a  thousand  chances  to  one  against  his  ever 
doing  so. 

"  All  right !  I  knew  you  would,  Benny,"  she  said,  as  if 
it  were  a  feat  already  accomplished. 

"Now,  dear  sister  of  my  heart,  tell  me  of  your  own  plans 
and  purposes.  Lord  Wellrose  told  me  that  you  intended  to 
go  out  to  Australia.  Do  you  still  really  mean  to  take  that 
long  voyage  ?  " 


BENJAMIN'S    NEW    NAME.  343 

"  Yes,  Benny.  I  have  never  been  there,  you  know.  And 
I  have  not  seen  my  parents  since  they  went  there,  four 
years  ago.  It  seems  a  long  time.  I  must  go  now  to  see 
my  father  and  mother,  and  try  to  comfort  them  for  the  loss 
of  my  brother.  They  are  growing  old  now,  Benny,"  she 
added  sadly. 

"  Yes,"  answered  the  young  man,  "  but  they  are  growing 
old  in  much  peace  and  comfort,  secured  to  them  by  their 
dutiful  daughter.  And  they  have  the  happiness  of  seeing 
all  their  children  healthy  and  prosperous." 

"  Yes,  except  one,"  sighed  Suzy. 

"How  long  shall  you  be  absent,  Suzy?"  inquired  the 
young  man. 

"  Many  months — perhaps  a  year  or  more,  Benny,"  she 
said,  growing  very  serious.  "  Benny,  my  brother,  my 
brother,  who  would  have  died  for  my  sake,  Benny,  I  will  tell 
you  a  secret.  I  am  going  out  to  Australia,  it  is  true,  to  see 
and  to  comfort  my  aged  father  and  mother.  But,  Benny,  I 
shall  stay  out  there  to  give  the  Earl  of  Wellrose  time  to 
forget  me.  This  is  my  secret." 

Benjamin  looked  at  her  in  unbounded  astonishment. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  smiling  sadly.  "  I  know  what  you  are 
thinking  of,  my  brother.  You  are  thinking  how,  a  little 
while  ago,  I  was  nearly  breaking  my  heart  about  the  Earl 
of  Wellrose.  Very  true,  Benny ;  but  that  was  because, 
while  I  loved  and  honored  him  so  much,  and  while  he  visit- 
ed me  every  day,  I  had  no  assurance  from  him  that  he 
loved  or  respected  me,  or  had  any  good  intentions  toward  me. 
Your  timely  interference,  delicately  conducted  as  such  a 
thing  possibly  could  be,  brought  matters  to  a  crisis.  The 
Earl  came  and  told  me  that  he  loved  me,  and  that  he  wished 
to  make  me  his  wife  just  so  soon  as  he  could  obtain  his 
father's  and  his  mother's  consent.  That  it  would  take  time 
and  reason  to  gain  this.  But  that,  after  waiting  a  reason- 
able time  for  their  consent,  if  they  should  still  withhold  it, 


A      NOBLE      LOR  T). 

be  should  feel  not  only  free  to  marry  me  without  their  con- 
sent, but  also  bound  in  honor,  as  well  as  drawn  by  love,  to 
do  so." 

"  He  is  a  pure  and  noble  soul !  "  said  Benny,  with  enthusi- 
asm, though  not  without  a  natural  pang  at  seeing  how 
utterly  Suzy  was  lost  to  his  hopes  forever. 

"Yes,"  said  the  young  girl  warmly.  "He  is  indeed  a 
pure  and  noble  soul.  His  words  made  me  very  happ3r,  so 
happy  that  I  forgot  myself,  so  happy  that  I  allowed  him  to 
place  a  betrothal  ring  on  my  finger  and  to  bind  himself  to 
me  for  ever.  He  had  selected  it  that  morning,  and  brought 
it  to  put  upon  my  finger  as  the  pledge  of  his  faith,  so  that 
I  might  never  doubt  him,  again.  See,  here  is  the  ring.  I 
could  show  you  the  motto  on  it  only  I  do  not  wish  to  draw 
it  from  my  finger.  The  motto  is — In  truth,"  she  said, 
holding  out  her  hand  and  exhibiting  a  pure  solitaire  dia- 
mond of  priceless  value,  plainly  set  in  a  heavy  gold  circle. 

"  I  have  noticed  it  before,  though  I  did  not  know  it  was 
the  Earl's  gift.  It  is  a  gem  of  the  purest  water,  I  should 
judge.  And  I  notice  that  you  have  not  lately  worn  any 
other  ring." 

"  Never !  For  love  of  this  ring,  1  have  discarded  all 
others  from  my  hand,  even  the  rich  ruby  ring  that  I  liked  so 
much  because  it  was  the  gift  of  the  Empress  of  Russia,  and 
she  is  snch  a  lovely  lady.  I  sang  before  Her  Majesty  three 
times  in  the  Opera-house  of  St.  Petersburg.  I  shall  never 
sing  on  any  stage  again,"  said  Suzy,  with  a  sigh. 

"No,  certainly — if  you  marry  the  Earl,"  said  Benny. 

"  I  shall  never  marry  the  Earl,"  said  the  young  girl  vervj 
gravely.  "And  that  brings  me  back  to  what  I  was  about 
to  say  of  my  motives.  For  a  little  time  I  was  very  happy 
in  the  Earl's  love — forgetting  that  I  was  unfit  to  be  hia 
wife." 

"  Unfit  to  be  his  wife,  Suzy ! "  echoed  the  young  man, 
who,  in  his  own  blind  and  passionate  love,  believed  her  fit 
to  be  a  king's  wife. 


BENJAMIN'S    NEW    NAME.  345 

"  Yes,"  she  said  calmly,  "  for  he  is  the  Earl  of  Wellrose, 
and  he  will  be  the  Duke  of  Cheviot.  And  I  am  the 
daughter  of  a  poor  stage  carpenter,  and  only  by  accident 
elevated  to  be  a  popular  opera  singer.  I  do  not  blame  his 
family  for  objecting  to  me  ;  for  though,  in  my  silly  vanity, 
I  once  boasted  that  actresses  and  opera  singers  had  often 
been  raised  by  marriage  to  the  peerage,  yet  I  know  now 
that  this  has  been  but  seldom  so,  and  that  these  cases  were 
very  exceptional  ones,  by  no  means  to  be  taken  as  prece- 
dents or  examples,  I  know  that  I,  the  poor  stage  carpenter's 
daughter,  developed  into  an  opera  singer,  am  not  fit  to  be  a 
countess  now  and  a  duchess  hereafter.  The  very  idea  terri- 
fies me." 

"But  I  thought  you  were  happy  and  contented  in  the 
Earl's  love,"  said  Benny,  simply. 

"  And  so  I  was — very  happy  and  confident  in  the  Earl's 
love ;  deliriously  happy  and  confident.  But  the  awful 
events  of  the  last  few  weeks  have  sobered  me  down,  and 
brought  me  to  my  senses,  Benny — have  made  me  remember 
that  it  is  not  fit  I  should  marry  the  Earl  and  bring  discord 
into  his  family.  Oh,  yes,  I  honor  the  Earl  as  much  as  ever 
— as  much  as  ever!  Ah,  Heaven  truly  knows  I  honor  him 
more  than  ever !  And  my  soul  is  satisfied  with  the  know- 
ledge of  his  esteem  for  me.  And  it  is  this  satisfaction  which 
gives  me  strength  to  make  a  sacrifice  for  his  sake — to  renounce 
him  for  his  own  good.  I  will  not  shock  or  wound  him  by  giv- 
ing him  up  suddenly.  But  I  will  go  out  to  Australia,  as  in 
duty  bound,  to  visit  and  console  my  poor  old  father  and 
mother.  And  I  will  stay  out  there  until  absence  shall  have 
broken  the  force  of  habit,  and  the  Earl  of  Wellrose  shall 
have  forgotten  his  indiscreet  love  for  the  lowly-born  opera 
singer." 

"  I  do  not  think  that  he  will  ever  forget  that,"  said 
Benny,  judging  the  young  Earl's  heart  by  his  own. 

"Ah,  jTes;  I  am  not  so  vain  as  to  believe  otherwise," 
sighed  Suzy. 


346  A      NOBLE      LORD. 

"But  tell  me;  does  Lord  Wellrose  know  or  suspect  this 
design  of  deserting  him?"  gravely  inquired  the  young 
man. 

"Why,  no;  assuredly  not!  If  I  were  to  let  him  oven 
suspect  it,  that  would  defeat  my  whole  purpose.  No,  I  \viil 
do  nothing  suddenly;  but  I  will  go  away  and  stay  away 
until  his  heart  has  cooled  toward  me,  and  then,  when  time 
has  prepared  him  for  the  change,  I  myself  will  propose  the 
annulment  of  our  betrothal,"  said  the  young  girl. 

"  Suzy,"  said  Benny  very  gravely,  "you  mean  well,  but 
you  do  ill.  You  are  betrothed  to  the  Earl  of  Wellrose,  and 
bound  to  him  by  every  tie  of  honor.  And  in  common  loy- 
alty to  him,  you  should  not  take  this  important  step  with- 
out his  knowledge  and  consent.  If  you  really  intend  to 
try  the  effect  of  absence  on  his  love  and  constancy,  with  the 
view  of  finally  freeing  him  from  what  you  deem  a  rash  and 
indiscreet  engagement,  you  should  tell  him  so.  He  would 
probably  reply  to  you,  that  his  love  and  faith  would  stand 
the  test.  But  in  any  case  you  should  tell  him." 

"Do  you  really  think  so,  Benny?"  inquired  the  young 
girl,  with  a  startled  look. 

"  Assuredly  I  do.     It  is  his  right  to  be  told." 

"  Then  I  will  think  of  it,  Benny,"  she  said  very  thought- 
fully. 

And  the  young  man,  who  had  made  quite  a  long  call, 
arose  and  took  leave  of  his  friend,  with  a  promise  to  come 
again.  Suzy  kept  her  word  with  Benny,  but  that  was  all. 
As  she  had  promised  to  think  about  his  advice,  she  thought 
about  it;  but  the  more  she  thought  about  it,  the  more  disin- 
clined she  felt  to  follow  it. 

"  No,"  she  said  to  herself,  "  no ;  if  I  am  to  do  Lord 
Wellrose  any  good  by  absenting  myself  from  him,  I  must 
be  silent  as  to  my  motives.  If  1  were  to  tell  him  that  I  go 
for  the  purpose  of  giving  him  an  opportunity  of  forgetting 
me,  that  would  only  strengthen  his  resolution  to  remember 


TO    THE    WAR!  347 

me.  No ;  I  will  go,  and  I  will  be  silent  as  to  my  last  mo- 
tive in  going.  /  will  do  right;  I  know  that.  And  if,  at 
the  end  of  two  years'  separation,  he  is  not  cured  of  his  in- 
discreet love  —  if  then  again  he  claim  my  hand,  he  shall 
have  it,  certainty." 

So  saying,  Suzy  ordered  her  brougham,  and  went  to  Ox- 
ford street,  to  the  establishment  of  a  celebrated  manufac- 
turer of  regalia,  to  order  the  magnificent  pair  of  colors  that 
she  designed  to  present  to  Benjamin's  company,  for  Benja- 
min's sake. 

She  told  the  proprietor  the  purpose  of  her  visit,  and 
mentioned  the  company  of  the  regiment  she  wished  to 
honor.  And  he  showed  her  a  book  of  appropriate  designs, 
and  she  chose  the  most  elegant  one  she  saw,  and  ordered  a 
pair  of  colors  to  be  made  from  it. 

The  proprietor  promised  to  have  them  put  in  hand  imme- 
diately, and  sent  home  within  the  week. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 
TO  THE  WAR! 

Sound,  sound  the  clarion  !  (ill  the  fife  ! 

To  all  the  sensual  world  proclaim  : 
One  crowded  hour  of  glorious  life 

IB  worth  an  ago  without  a  name. — SIR  WALTER  SCOTT. 

MEANWHILE  the  month  slipped  swiftly  away,  and  the 
day  approached  when  Ensign  Douglas  must  leave  London 
to  join  his  regiment  at  Southampton. 

Benjamin  went  to  take  leave  of  Suzy  the  day  before  he 
was  to  start. 

"  Our  parting  is  not  to  be  here,  my  dear,  you  know.  I 
shall  go  down  to  Southampton  by  the  same  train  with 
yourself,  in  order  to  present  the  colors  to  your  company. 


348  A     NOBLE      LORD. 

And  I  shall  remain  at  Southampton  until  your  regiment 
sails,"  said  the  young  girl,  as  she  kindly  took  the  young 
soldier's  hand. 

Benjamin's  face  lighted  up  with  pleasure. 

"  Then  I  shall  see  you  occasionally,  for  the  next  ten 
days  ?  "  he  said  gayly. 

"  You  shall  see  me  daily,  for  the  next  ten  days,  dear 
Benny,"  she  answered  affectionately. 

"  But  the  Earl  ?  "  suggested  Benjamin,  as  a  doubt  crossed 
his  mind  as  to  whether  Lord  Wellrose  would  approve  of  the 
journey  of  his  betrothed. 

"  Oh,  the  Earl ! "  said  Suzy,  smiling.  "  You  are  very 
much  devoted  to  his  lordship's  interests." 

"  There  is  only  one  person  in  the  world  whom  I  love  more 
than  I  do  the  Earl ;  and  there  is  no  one  on  earth  whom  I 
honor  so  much.  Yes,  Suzy,  I  am  devoted  to  his  lordship's 
interests ;  they  are  dearer  to  me  than  my  own  life,  than  my 
own  happiness.  He  treats  me  as  a  brother.  He  gave  me 
his  name.  What  more  could  he  do  for  me  than  that?" 
answered  Benny,  very  seriousty. 

"He  loves  you  as  a  brother,  Benny.  I  know  that.  I 
never  saw  anything  like  it  in  my  life.  You  are  going  to 
take  leave  of  him  to-day,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  Yes,  dear." 

"Then  he  will  tell  you  more  about  my  journey.  And 
you  must  meet  me  at  the  railway  station  to-morrow,"  said 
Suzy,  as  Benny  arose  to  go. 

From  Park  Lane,  Benjamin  went  to  Cheviot  House,  to 
bid  good-bye  to  Lord  Wellrose.  He  sent  up  his  card : 

E^SIGX  DOUGLAS. 

And  he  was  almost  immediately  admitted,  and  shown  to 
the  private  apartments  of  the  Earl,  and  announced  as : 

"  Ensign  Douglas." 

As  he  entered  the  room,  his  heart  suddenly  seemed  to 
stand  still  in  his  bosom ;  his  breath  was  suspended ;  for  the 


TO    THE    WAR!  349 

Duchess  of  Cheviot,  "the  beautiful  Duchess" — still  beauti- 
ful with  her  family  grown  up  around  her — was  passing  out. 
She  bowed  slightly  and  smiled  on  her  son's  visitor,  and  so 
disappeared. 

Benjamin  caught  his  breath,  and  recovered  himself  as 
the  young  Earl  arose  and  came  forward  to  greet  him. 

"  You  leave  London  to-morrow,  Benjamin,  I  believe  ? " 
he  inquired. 

"  Yes,  my  lord,  I  do.  And  I  have  come  to-day  to  take 
leave  of  your  lordship,  and  to  thank  you  again,  and  to  say 
that  I  shall  never  cease  to  thank  you  for  all  your  kindness 
— much  more  than  kindness  to  me,"  said  the  young  man, 
with  much  emotion. 

"  Say  no  more  about  it,  Benjamin.  It  is  enough  that  it 
makes  me  very  happy  to  be  of  service  to  you.  But  we  do 
not  part  to-day.  I  go  down  to  Southampton  with  you," 
said  the  young  Earl  pleasantly. 

"  My  lord  !  you  !  "  exclaimed  Benny,  pleasure  beaming 
in  his  eyes. 

"  Yes.  My  little  queen  in  Park  Lane  goes  down  to 
present  the  colors  to  your  company,  and  has  accepted  my 
escort  for  herself  and  her  companion,  Mrs.  Brown.  So  we 
will  make  up  a  party  and  take  a  compartment  together. 
What  do  you  say  ?  " 

"  I  am  delighted,  my  lord." 

"  I  have  another  motive  in  going  down  with  you.  I  wish 
to  introduce  you  to  some  of  the  officers  of  your  regiment,  es- 
pecially to  the  Senior  Surgeon,  Doctor  Christopher  Kinlock. 
He  is  a  very  good  man  indeed.  And  he  has  a  sort  of  claim 
upon  us.  He  comes  from  Scotland,  from  my  mother's 
neighborhood,  from  her  estate  indeed,  being  a  native  of  the 
village  of  Seton.  He  was  the  adopted  son  and  the  heir  of 
old  Doctor  Seton,  a  distant  kinsman  or  clansman  of  the 
Seton-Lnlithgows,  and  so,  as  I  said,  has  a  sort  of  claim  on 
us.  My  father  procured  him  a  commission  as  surgeon  in 


350  A      NOBLE      LORD. 

the  same  regiment  yon  are  about  to  join,  and  he  goes  out 
with  it,  of  course.  I  think  that  in  him  you  will  find  a  val- 
uable friend,"  added  the  young  Earl,  very  far  from  dream- 
ing of  the  important  discoveries  that  would  result  from  the 
meeting  of  Ensign  Douglas  and  Doctor  Kinlock. 

Benny,  after  again  frying  to  express  his  sense  of  obliga- 
tion to  the  Earl,  took  leave  and  departed. 

Early  the  next  morning  the  travelling  party  of  four, 
namely,  Lord  Wellrose,  Benny,  Suzy  and  Mrs.  Brown,  with 
his  lordship's  valet  and  the  young  lady's  maid,  met  at  the 
railway  station  and  secured  a  compartment  to  themselves  in 
a  first  class  carriage. 

The  train  was  the  express,  and  soon  steamed  down  to  the 
seaport  upon  which  the  eyes  of  the  world  were  now  fixed, 
for  there  were  gathered  the  vast  British  army  about  to  set 
sail  for  the  East. 

In  due  time  the  train  reached  Southampton. 

Lord  Wellrose  and  his  party  went  to  a  hotel,  where  they 
took  a  handsome  suit  of  apartments,  and  established  the  two 
ladies  comfortably. 

It  was  yet  early  in  the  afternoon  ;  so  after  a  refreshing 
toilet  and  lunch,  Lord  Wellrose  proposed  to  take  Ensign 
Douglas  to  the  quarters  of  his  regiment,  to  report  for  duty. 

They  sat  out  and  in  due  time  reached  the  quarters  of  the 
colonel  commanding,  where  Ensign  Douglas  was  introduced, 
and  where  he  formally  reported. 

This  ceremony  being  over,  Lord  Wellrose  took  his  pro- 
tege to  the  quarters  of  the  senior  surgeon  and  introduced 
him  to  Doctor  Kinlock. 

The  Scotch  surgeon  was  a  man  of  about  fortj'-five  years 
.of  age,  prematurely  bald  and  grey,  but  with  an  erect  form, 
clear  eyes  and  a  resolute  countenance. 

He  received  Lord  Wellrose  with  much  deference,  and  wel- 
comed the  young  Ensign  with  kindness. 

"  Ensign — Douglas,  my  lord,  did  you  say  ?     Oh,  aye,  a 


TO    THE    WAR!  351 

kinsman  of  the  family,  I  presume  ? "  said  the  Surgeon, 
looking  from  one  to  the  other  of  his  two  visitors,  and  then 
answering  his  own  question  by  adding,  "  Oh,  aye,  certainly. 
The  likeness  shows  that,  my  lord.  I  never  saw  twin  brothers 
so  much  alike  in  person  as  your  lordship  and  this  young 
gentleman.  • 

Lord  Wellrose  did  not  contradict  Doctor  Kinlock.  He 
felt  that  he  could  not.  And  then  and  there  the  surgeon  re- 
ceived an  impression  that  he  afterwards  transferred  to  all  the 
offcers  of  his  regiment — namely,  that  the  new  ensign  was  a 
near  kinsman  of  the  Earl  of  Wellrose. 

His  lordship  commended  his  young  "  kinsman  "  to  the 
good  offices  of  the  surgeon  and  then  took  leave. 

And  soon  after  a  messenger  from  the  quartermaster  came 
after  Ensign  Douglas  and  took  him  to  his  tent. 

The  next  day  the  Earl  of  Wellrose  called  again  on  the 
Colonel  of  the  regiment,  and  obtained  leave  for  Miss  Juni- 
per to  present  a  pair  of  colors  to  Company . 

It  was  arranged  that  the  colors  should  be  presented  at 
parade  the  next  morning. 

When  this  matter  was  settled,  Lord  Wellrose  sought  out 
Benjamin,  told  him  the  arrangement  that  had  been  made 
for  the  presentation  and  reception  of  the  colors,  and  laugh- 
ingly added  that  he,  Ensign  Douglas,  who  was  destined  to 
bear  them  on  to  victory,  must  be  prepared  with  a  little 
speech  for  the  occasion. 

Then  he  returned  to  the  hotel  and  told  the  news  to  Suzy, 
who  received  it  half  in  delight  and  half  in  terror. 

And  he,  seeing  her  comic  dismay,  thought  to  tease  her  a 
little  by  telling  her  that  she  must  be  prepared  with  an  ap- 
propriate speech  to  deliver  when  presenting  the  colors. 

But  Suzy,  who  saw  his  drift,  and  meant  to  defeat  it, 
reminded  him,  that  in  her  professional  capacity,  she  had 
ln-en  as  much  accustomed  to  public  speaking  as  to  public 
singing,  and  should  not  in  the  least  mind  addressing  the 
"Greys." 


352  A      NOBLE      LORD. 

The  Earl  bowed  in  deference  to  this  self-assertion. 

Suzy  had  told  a  vain  story,  however,  for  early  the  next  day 
she  came  to  the  Earl  of  Wellrose  and  implored  his  lordship 
to  save  her  from  the  most  trying  part  of  the  exhibition,  by 
presenting  the  colors  and  making  the  speech  in  her  name. 

"  For  after  all,  you  kn$>w,"  she  said,  "  that  it  is  a  very  dif- 
ferent thing  from  playing  a  part.  It  is  much  easier  for  me 
to  sing  or  speak  as  Amina  or  Norma,  in  the  presence  of  a 
mixed  audience,  than  it  would  be  for  me  to  speak  directly 
in  my  own  person  to  a  company  of  soldiers ;  and  I  can't  do 
it,  Lord  Wellrose,"  she  added. 

"  1  will  relieve  you  of  that  duty,  ray  dearest.  But  you — 
the  donator  of  the  colors — will  stand  by  my  side  at  the  cere- 
mony, I  hope  ?  " 

"  Oh,  }res ;  certainly  I  will  do  that,"  said  the  young  girl, 
smiling. 

It  was  the  hour  of  the  grand  parade  when  the  colors  were 
finally  presented. 

Lord  Wellrose,  who  presented  them  "in  the  name  of  the 
fair  donor,"  made  a  short  speech,  full  of  patriotism. 

Ensign  Douglas,  who  received  them  on  behalf  of  his  com- 
pany, also  made,  in  reply,  a  short  speech,  eloquent  with  deep 
emotion,  in  which  he  said,  in  effect,  that  he  was  prepared  to 
die  in  defence  of  these  colors  if  necessary ;  that  they  should 
never  be  taken  by  the  enemy  except  from  his  dead  hand ! 
finally,  the  highest  ambition  of  his  life  was  this — that  fate 
would  permit  him  to  plant  these  colors  on  the  walls  of  the 
imperial  palace  of  St.  Petersburg  ! 

It  was  an  absurd  burst  of  youthful  enthusiasm  and 
extravagance,  and  yet  it  was  highly  applauded. 

And  so  the  ceremony  of  the  presentation  of  the  colors 
ended. 

A  few  days  after  this,  the  army,  consisting  in  all  of  thirty 
thousand  men,  embarked  and  set  sail  for  the  East. 

Lord   Wellrose   and   Suzy,  after  having   taken  the  most 


LOVE'S    MISTAKES.  353 

affectionate  leave  of  Benjamin,  and  given  and  received  prom- 
ises touching  a  frequent  correspondence,  returned  to  Lou- 
don. 

Suzy's  next  business  was  to  give  up  her  little  palace  in 
Park  Lane,  and  take  lodgings,  while  waiting  for  the  sailing 
of  the  ship  that  was  to  carry  her  to  the  antipodes. 

It  was  just  three  weeks  after  the  sailing  of  the  English 
forces  for  the  East,  that  Suzy  took  leave  of  Lord  Wellrose 
and  all  her  London  friends,  and  accompanied  by  her  com- 
panion, Mrs.  Brown,  and  her  maid  Jenny  Smith,  embarked 
on  board  the  East  Indiaman  Wendover,  bound  for  Sydney. 

Lord  Wellrose  felt  her  loss  severely,  but  he  was  not  the 
sort  of  man  to  yield  to  despondency.  He  devoted  himself  to 
the  interests  of  his  great  bill  for  the  "  Reform  of  Prison 
Discipline  and  the  Reclamation  of  Criminals,"  and  in  good 
works  soon  recovered  his  good  spirits. 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 

LOVE'S    MISTAKES. 

Let  them  stand 

In  thy  thoughts,  untouched  by  blame. 
Could  they  help  it,  if  her  hand 
He  had  claimed  with  hasty  chum? 
That  was  wrong,  perhaps  ;  but  then 
Such  things  bo,  and  will  again. — E.  B.  BROWNING. 

THE  Earl  of  Wellrose  occupied  himself  with  the  humane 
cause  to  which  he  had  consecrated  his  life.  And  he  found  in 
his  work  an  antidote  to  that  depression  of  spirits  consequent 
upon  his  separation  from  his  betrothed,  and  from  his  protege 
whom  he  had  grown  to  love  with  more  than  the  love  of  a 
brother. 

But  busily  engaged  as  he  was  with  public  affairs,  he  still 
found  time  to  go  into  society  more  frequently  than  he  had 

done  when  "  Mademoiselle  Ark-lie  "  was  at  Coveut  Garden 

22 


354  A      NOBLE      LORD. 

theatre  and  at  Park  Lane,  and  all  his  leisure  time  given  to 
her. 

Yet  with  all  his  public  and  private  engagements,  he  felt 
the  time  long  while  waiting  to  hear  from  his  betrothed. 

He  knew  tliat  unless  the  Wendover  should  chance  to 
"speak"  some  homeward-bound  ship,  many  weary  months 
must  elapse  before  he  could  hope  for  a  letter  from  her. 

Meanwhile  he  wrote  by  every  Australian  mail,  that  his 
letters  might  reach  her  soon  after  her  arrival  at  Sydney. 

At  length  Parliament  was  prorogued,  and  the  London 
season  closed. 

The  Earl  of  Wellrose,  released  from  official  duties,  would 
have  gone  on  a  yachting  excursion  to  the  Mediterranean, 
but  his  mother,  the  Duchess  of  Cheviot,  made  it  a  point  that 
he  should  join  her  autumn  party  at  Seton  Court,  in  Scot- 
land. 

The  family  had  not  been  there  for  so  many  years,  she  said, 
that  it  was  now  quite  time  they  should  visit  the  estate  and 
look  into  the  condition  of  their  tenantry.  And  besides,  she 
urged,  there  was  no  better  place  for  game  of  all  sorts,  from 
blackcock  to  red  deer,  than  Seton  Court  and  Chase ;  and 
furthermore,  if  Wellrose  wished  to  invite  any  number  of  his 
young  friends  to  meet  him  there,  they  should  be  made  very 
welcome. 

His  married  sisters  with  their  husbands  and  children, 
were  all  to  join  the  party.  The  Earl  and  Countess  of 
Ornoch  and  Lady  Hinda  Moray  were  also  coming.  And 
the  venerable  General  and  Mrs.  Chimboza  were  expected. 
But  the  gathering  would  not  be  complete,  or  at  all  satisfac- 
tory, if  her  son  Wellrose  was  absent  from  it. 

Now  Lord  Wellrose  cared  very  little  for  blackcock  shoot- 
ing or  red  deer  stalking ;  but  being  social  and  affectionate, 
like  all  his  brave  and  tender  race,  he  cared  a  great  deal  for 
the  dear  friends  and  relatives  who  would  be  gathered  at 
Seton  Court,  and  he  cared  a  great  deal  more  for  his  mother's 


LOVE'S    MISTAKES.  355 

wishes;  so  he  promptly  gave  up  his  expedition  to  the 
Mediterranean,  and  placed  his  yacht,  the  Arielle,  at  the 
disposal  of  the  Duchess  and  her  friends,  if  her  grace  should 
please  to  go  to  Scotland  by  sea.  He  also  proposed  to  keep 
the  Arielle  at  anchor  at  the  little  port  of  Killford  during 
the  autumn,  in  the  event  that  the  Duchess  and  her  visitors 
should  please  to  diversify  their  inland  amusements  by  a  sea 
voyage  up  the  wild  and  picturesque  west  coast  of  Scotland. 

Tlie  Duchess  was  delighted  with  the  plan,  and  thanked 
her  thoughtful  and  affectionate  son,  and  accepted  the  offer 
of  his  yacht. 

And  when  Lord  Wellrose  saw  the  real  pleasure  he  had 
given  his  mother,  he  felt  that  in  resigning  his  expedition  to 
the  Mediterranean  for  her  sake,  'le  had  made  no  sacrifice 
at  all. 

The  yacht  was  then  at  Portsmouth,  quite  ready  for  sea. 

An  agreeable  family  party  was  immediately  made  up  for 
the  voyage.  It  consisted  of  the  Duke  and  Duchess  of  Che- 
viot, their  son  the  Earl  of  Wellrose,  and  their  sons-in-law 
and  married  daughters,  as  follows:  the  Viscount  and  Vis- 
countess Moray,  Mr.  Albert  and  Lady  Clemence  Elphin- 
stone ;  and  their  young  unmarried  daughters,  the  Ladies 
Hester  and  Eva  Douglas  ;  and  lastly  their  cousins,  the  Earl 
and  Countess  of  Ornoch,  and  Lady  Hinda  Moray. 

There  were  no  others. 

"  I  prefer  that  for  the  voyage  this  should  be  exclusively  a 
family  party.  Our  visitors  will  join  us  at  the  appropriate 
time  at  Seton  Court,"  said  the  Duchess,  who  ordered  all  tho 
arrangements. 

It  was  agreed  that  the  whole  family  party  should  meet  at 
Cheviot  House  on  the  evening  of  a  certain  day,  and  that 
they  should  take  a  special  train  for  Portsmouth  the  next 
morning. 

Consequently  on  the  evening  of  the  twentieth  of  August 
a  pleasant  circle  was  assembled  in  the  drawing-room  of 


356  A      NOBLE     LORD. 

Cheviot  House.  This  circle  included  all  the  individuals 
named  for  the  yachting  party;  among  them,  of  course,  the 
lovely  Lady  Hinda  Moray — the  most  beautiful  girl  in  Eu- 
rope, as  all  the  clubs  declared.  She  was,  perhaps,  the  most 
beautiful  brunette  in  the  world ;  with  a  perfect  form  and 
perfect  features ;  with  a  stately  little  head  adorned  with  a 
profusion  of  bright,  soft,  purple  black  ringlets ;  with  large, 
brilliant,  tender,  purple  black  eyes,  arched  with  slender 
black  eyebrows,  and  fringed  with  long  black  eyelashes,  and 
with  a  rich  complexion  deepening  into  vivid  crimson  upon 
the  delicate  oval  cheeks  and  plump,  ripe  lips. 

All  the  men  in  London  were  in  love  with  her,  except  the 
Earl  of  Wellrose.  He  had  not  even  seen  her  for  some 
months. 

But  now,  as  he  looked  upon  her  this  last  evening,  seated 
in  the  drawing-room  of  Cheviot  House,  and  with  her  beauty 
enhanced  by  a  toilet  that  was  perfectly  tasteful  and  becom- 
ing, he  thought  that  she  was  the  most  beautiful  creature  he 
had  ever  seen  in  his  life,  and  he  wondered  why  he  had  never 
thought  so  before. 

Then  he  repented,  and  hoped  that  he  had  not,  in  think- 
ing this,  committed  treason  against  his  betrothed. 

Yet  withal  he  was  glad  that  this  sweet  girl  was  going 
with  the  family  party  to  Scotland. 

"  She  is  my  cousin,  and  I  have  always  liked  her,  and 
always  shall,  though  I  never  noticed  what  a  perfect  beauty 
she  really  is,  until  to-night,"  he  said  to  himself  as  he  fur- 
tively gazed  at  her. 

That  night,  after  he  had  retired  to  his  own  apartments, 
he  found  upon  his  dressing-table  a  letter  from  Suzy,  the 
first  he  had  received  from  her  since  her  departure.  He 
seized  it  with  eager  joy.  It  bore  two  postmarks — "  COR- 
VETTE REVENON,"  and  "  HAVKE." 

It  had  been  brought  them  by  a  French  ship  homeward 
bound,  that  had  been  spoken  by  the  Wendover,  and  it  had 
come  by  the  way  of  Havre. 


LOVE'S    MISTAKES.  857 

So  much  he  saw  by  the  envelope. 

This  was  not  only  the  first  letter  he  had  received  from  his 
betrothed  since  her  departure,  but  the  first  he  had  received 
from  her  at  any  time. 

As  they  had  never  been  separated  since  their  first  acquain- 
tance, there  had  never  been  any  necessity,  nor  even  any 
opportunity  for  a  letter  correspondence  between  them. 

Now,  after  their  first  parting,  to  get  her  first  letter  was  an 
event  of  great  importance  and  interest  to  him. 

How  would  she  write  to  him,  he  asked  himself  as  he 
eagerly  opened  the  envelope  and  unfolded  the  letter. 

The  letter  disappointed  and  depressed  him  by  what  he 
considered  its  coldness  and  formality. 

Suzy  had  indeed  written  to  her  lover  in  a  very  matter-of- 
fact,  though  friendly  sort  of  way.  She  dated  her  letter  "  On 
board  the  ship  Wendover,  Atlantic  Ooean."  And  she  com- 
menced it  with,  "  Dear  Lord  Wellrose."  She  told  him  all 
the  incidents  of  her  voyage  ;  what  sort  of  a  man  the  captain 
was;  who  her  fellow-passengers  were  ;  what  kind  of  weather 
they  had  had  ;  what  ships  they  had  spoken  ;  what  fish  and 
water-fowl  they  had  seen  ;  who  were  seasick,  and  who  were 
sea-worthy.  But  not  one  word  about  her  own  feelings.  She 
ended  her  letter  by  a  paragraph  written  some  days  later  than 
the  first  date,  in  which  she  told  him  that  they  had  just 
spoken  the  French  ship  Revenon,  homeward  bound,  and  that 
they  would  send  a  boat  out  to  her  to  take  out  letters,  and 
bring  hers.  And  she  signed  herself  "  Yours  affectionately, 
Susan  Juniper." 

"  She  might  as  well  have  sent  me  a  leaf  from  the  ship's 
log-book,"  said  the  lover  impatiently,  as  he  refolded  the  for- 
mal little  letter,  and  thought  how  earnest,  fervent,  ardent, 
his  letters  to  her  had  been. 

It  was  true  he  remembered  that  she  had  not-received  them 
yet,  and  could  not  receive  them  until  her  arrival  at  Sydney. 

And  then  he  went  to  bed,  and  fell  to  dreaming  of  the 


358  A      NOBLE      LORD. 

brilliant,  tender,  flashing,  melting  eyes  of  the  Lady  Hinda 
Moray. 

Very  early  in  the  morning,  the  yachting  party  assembled 
in  the  breakfast-room,  already  dressed  in  their  travelling 
suits. 

They  were  all  very  merry  over  the  prospect  of  their  sea 
voyage,  and  of  the  fine  weather  which  every  sign  in  the 
heavens  seemed  to  promise  them. 

After  dispatching  a  good  breakfast,  they  entered  the  car- 
riages that  were  in  waiting  to  take  them  to  the  railway 
station. 

Lord  Wellrose  found  himself  in  the  same  carriage  with 
the  Duke  and  Duchess  of  Cheviot.  There  was  a  fourth  seat 
vacant. 

"Where  is  Hinda?"  inquired  the  young  Earl,  glancing 
at  the  vacant  seat. 

"  She  is  in  the  coach  with  Albert  and  Jessie,"  answered 
the  Duchess,  referring  to  her  son-in-law  and  daughter,  the 
Viscount  and  Viscountess  Moray. 

"  I  thought  she  was  to  have  come  with  us,"  said  the  Earl, 
in  a  tone  of  disappointment. 

"  She  was  to  have  done  so,  but  allowed  herself  to  be  car- 
ried off  at  the  last  moment  by  Jessie.  However,  we  shall  all 
be  together  on  the  train,  as  we  have  engaged  a  double  com- 
partment for  ourselves,"  said  the  Duchess,  with  a  smile. 

In  due  time  they  reached  the  railway  station,  where,  in  a 
few  moments,  they  found  themselves  comfortably  seated  in 
the  capacious  double  compartment  that  had  been  secured  for 
the  party. 

Lord  Wellrose,  to  his  complete  satisfaction,  found  himself 
seated  by  his  beautiful  cousiu,  the  Lady  Hinda  Moray. 

And  they  were  all  scarcely  settled  in  their  places  before 
the  train  began  to  move  out  of  the  station,  and  in  a  few  mo- 
menta, with  accelerating  speed,  to  steam  swiftly  toward 
Portsmouth. 


LOVE'S    MISTAKES.  359 

Lord  Well  rose  talked  with  his  cousin  of  the  past  season 
in  London,  with  all  its  trials,  triumphs  and  defeats,  artistic, 
social  and  political.  And  he  found  Lady  Hinda  as  bril- 
liant, witty  and  attractive  in  conversation  as  she  was  iu 
person. 

He  afterward  remembered  that  railway  ride  to  Ports- 
mouth as  one  of  the  shortest  and  pleasantest  he  had  ever 
enjoyed. 

It  was  but  a  little  past  noon  when  they  reached  the 
seaport. 

They  did  not  go  to  a  hotel,  but  took  carriages  from  the 
station  directly  to  the  water  side,  where  the  beautiful  yacht 
was  waiting  to  receive  them. 

It  was  fitted  up  with  every  comfort,  convenience  and 
luxury  that  wealth,  taste  and  skill  could  command. 

A  sumptuous  repast  was  awaiting  them  in  the  elegant 
saloon. 

And  the  travellers  partook  of  it  with  an  appetite  sharp- 
ened by  their  long  morning's  ride. 

As  soon  as  the  tide  served  the  yacht  sailed. 

The  voyagers  were  blessed  with  beautiful  weather,  with 
long,  clear,  mild  days,  and  with  soft,  mild,  moonlight 
nights. 

All  day  long  it  was  delightful  to  sit  on  deck,  breathing 
the  pure  air  and  looking  out  upon  the  blue  sky,  the  calm 
sea,  and  the  wildly  beautiful  distant  coast.  And  even  late 
at  night  it  required  some  resolution  to  leave  the  moonlit 
scene,  the  starry  heavens,  the  silvery  ocean,  the  shadowy 
shore,  to  take  needful  rest. 

So  they  sailed  down  the  south  coast,  doubled  Laud's  End, 
and  up  the  wild  western  shore. 

The  weather  was  almost  too  fine  for  a  quick  passage,  for 
though  the  wind  was  fair,  there  was  but  little  of  it. 

It  was  the  evening  of  the  fourth  day  of  the  voyage  that 
the  yacht  ran  into  the  little  harbor  of  Killford  and  dropped 
anchor. 


360  A     NOBLE      LOR  P. 

There  they  found  the  little  steamer  Sprite  waiting  to 
take  them  through  the  Straits  that  connected  the  harbor 
of  Killford  with  the  Loch. 

"  We  e'en  expectit  your  Grace  yestreen  ;  aye,  and  the 
day  before.  We  hae  been  doon  here  ilka  day  sin'  Sun- 
day," complained  old  Saundy  Gaunt,  a  gray-haired  retainer 
of  the  family,  as  he  stood,  bonnet  in  hand,  to  welcome  the 
Duchess,  as  the  steamer  ran  alongside  of  the  yacht. 

The  Duchess  smiled  as  she  gave  him  her  hand,  and 
answered : 

"  But  you  see  we  are  here  at  last,  Saundy.  '  All  good 
things  come  to  us,  if  we  wait  long  enough  for  them,'  it  is 
said." 

"Aye?  Do  they  so?  I  did  na  ken.  I  hae  been  wait- 
ing all  my  life  lang  for  gude  luck,  and  it  has  na  coom  yet," 
grumbled  the  old  man. 

"And  what  sort  of  good  lucWiave  you  been  waiting  for, 
Saundy?"  laughingly  inquired  the  Duchess,  as  she  took 
her  seat  on  the  deck  of  the  steamer,  surrounded  by  the 
party. 

"  Just  a  wee  sheiling  o'  my  ain,  wi'  a  bit  ait  field  at- 
tached," promptly  answered  the  old  man. 

"Why,  1  thought  you  had  that,  Saundy  ?  " 

"Na;  only  a  cutty  stool  beside  Duncan  Gray's  peat  fire." 

"Then  you  shall  certainly  have  a  cottage  and  garden  of 
your  own,  Saundy.  And  I  will  direct  the  new  bailiff,  Mr. 
McDonald,  to  see  to  it  at  once.  There  now,  I  told  you  that 
everything  good  comes  to  us,  if  we  wait  long  enough  for 
it,"  smiled  the  Duchess. 

"  Aye,  sure,  when  ladies  like  your  Grace  hae  the  power 
and  the  will  to  send  them,"  replied  the  old  man,  as  he 
deeply  bowed  his  thanks. 

Meanwhile  the  little  steamer  turned  about  and  headed 
up  the  Straits,  that  were  anything  but  straight,  tacking 
frequently  from  right  to  left,  and  from  left  again  to  right, 


BENNY'S    RISE.  3G1 

to  round  the  points  of  the  high  rooks  reaching  from  each 
side  to  the  middle  of  the  channel,  and  almost  interlocking 
each  other. 

So,  at  length,  they  passed  through  the  Straits,  and  en- 
tered the  loch. 

There  a  scene  of  beauty  and  grandeur  unsurpassed  and 
indescribable  broke  upon  their  view :  the  broad  loch,  entirely 
surrounded  by  fir-crowned  hills,  and  at  its  upper  end  the 
white  turrets  of  Seton  Court,  the  whole  bathed  in  moon- 
light. 

They  steamed  up  this  beautiful  loch,  and  landed  at  the 
stairs  leading  up  into  Seton  Chase. 

At  the  head  of  the  stairs,  carriages  were  waiting,  that 
took  them  all  up  to  the  house,  where  the  housekeeper,  Mrs. 
Bruce,  had  all  things  in  readiness  for  the  reception  of  the 
family. 

The  Duke  and  Duchess,  with  all  their  party,  passed 
through  a  double  line  of  servants  drawn  up  in  the  hall  to 
welcome  them  home. 

Then  the  guests  were  shown  to  their  apartments. 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 
BENNY'S  KISE. 

The  death-shot  hissing  from  afar — 
The  shock — the  shout — the  groan  of  war; 
Though  few  the  numbers,  theirs  the  strife 
That  neither  spares  nor  speaks  oflit'e. — BYBOW. 

THE  Earl  of  Wellrose  knew  where  to  find  his  own. 

And  there,  on  his  table,  he  found  letters  awaiting  him. 

The  mail  had  travelled  much  faster  than  the  yacht  had 
sailed,  and  these  letters  had  been  forwarded  every  day  from 
London,  and  had  been  accumulating  for  the  last  four  days. 


362  A      NOBLE      LORD. 

Lord  Wellrose  carelessly  looked  them  over  until  he  came 
to  two,  lying  side  by  side — one  from  Suzy,  and  the  other 
from  Benny. 

He  eagerly  snatched  up  Suzy's  letter  and  hastily  opened 
it. 

It  was  very  short  and  disappointing.  She  commenced  as 
before,  with : 

"  Dear  Lord  Wellrose — " 

Then  she  told  him  that  she  had  nothing  to  tell  him.  She 
reminded  him  that  in  her  first  letter  she  had  described  the 
ship,  officers,  crew  and  passengers,  and  that  she  had  nothing 
left  to  write  about.  Since  the}'  had  spoken  the  French 
Corvette  Revenon,  they  had  not  seen  a  single  sail,  no,  nor  a 
shark,  nor  a  whale,  nor  an  iceberg,  nor  anything.  The  voy- 
age was  insupportably  dull  and  tedious,  and  she  would  be 
glad  of  anything  for  a  change,  even  a  tempest  or  a  pirate  ! 

Then  there  was  a  short  concluding  paragraph,  dated  a 
few  days  later,  and  announcing  the  approach  of  a  home- 
ward-bound ship,  made  out  to  be  the  Lord  Stanley,  from 
Sydney  to  Southampton,  and  which  would  take  letters  home 
to  England. 

"  I  am  sorry  now  that  I  grumbled,"  she  wrote  in  conclu- 
sion, "  for  we  have  been  very  fortunate  in  this — that  in  the 
last  six  weeks  we  have  spoken  two  homeward-bound  ships, 
and  have  been  able  to  send  letters.  And  I  am  informed 
that  it  often  happens  that  an  outward-bound  ship  does  not 
meet  a  homeward-bound  one  in  the  whole  voyage,  which 
must  be  very  dreary. 

She  signed  herself  his  "  affectionate  friend,  Suzy." 

The  lover  sighed  as  he  laid  this  letter  down,  and  wondered 
why  she  wrote  in  such  a  coolly  kind  and  matter-of-fact 
manner,  and  whether  she  loved  him  still,  and  whether 
indeed  she  had  ever  loved  him  at  all. 

And  then  a  vision  of  Lady  Hiuda's  melting  dark  eyes 
passed  before  him.  But  with  a  self-condemning  shudder  ho 
turned  from  them  and  took  up  Bunny's  letter. 


BENNY'S    RISE.  303 

All !    here   was   no  lack  of  warmth   indeed  !     Gratitude, 
affection  and  enthusiasm  tilled  its  pages. 

It  was  dated  at  Gallipoli,  a  little  town  on  a  peninsula  to 
the  west  of  the  Dardanelles,  where  some  divisions  of  the 
allied  armies  were  still  encamped.  It  told  him  of  the 
quaint  little  town,  of  the  strange  race  that  inhabited  the 
place,  of  the  condition  of  the  French  and  English  camps, 
and  of  a  rumor  in  camp  that  they  were  soon  to  move  higher 
up  the  countrj-. 

There  was  a  letter  also  from  the  surgeon,  Dr.  Christopher 
Kinlock,  in  which  he  spoke  very  highly  of  Ensign  Douglas, 
and  of  the  esteem  in  which  he  was  held  by  the  whole  regi- 
ment. 

Lord  Wellrose  laid  his  letters  aside,  and  made  a  hasty 
toilet  to  join  'his  party  at  their  late  dinner. 

There  had  been  a  little  womanly  diplomacy  in  the  'plan 
of  the  Duchess  when  she  made  up  her  party  for  the  High- 
lands. She  wished  to  bring  her  son,  Lord  Wellrose,  and 
his  beautiful  cousin,  Lady  Hinda  Mora)',  together  under  the 
same  roof,  where,  meeting  every  day  for  many  weeks,  she 
hoped  they  might  form  that  mutual  attachment  for  which 
both  their  families  wished. 

And  very  soon  the  Duchess  saw,  with  almost  equal  pain 
and  pleasure,  that  the  dark-eyed  Anglo-Indian,  Hinda,  had 
given  her  ardent  young  heart  to  the  noble  and  handsome 
young  Earl. 

With  "  equal  pain  and  pleasure,"  because  only  half  her 
wish  was  accomplished  in  that  Hinda  loved  Wellrose;  but 
she  doubted  and  feared  that  the  other  half  would  never  be 
fulfilled — that  Wellrose  would  never  love  Hinda.  And  if 
not — ah  !  what  life- long  sorrow  for  that  lovely  girl ! 

The  autumn  weeks  went  swiftly  by.  The  company 
assembled  at  Seton  Court  amused  themselves  with  excur- 
sions to  celebrated  localities  in  the  neighborhood  rich  in  his- 
toric interest,  and  in  voyages  to  the  coast  isles,  rides  to  the 


364  A      NOBLE      LORD. 

mountain  fastnesses,  or,  nearer  home,  in  archery  meetings 
on  the  lawn,  or  billiards  in  the  house. 

Not  until  October  did  the  pleasant  circle  break  up. 

And  then  the  Duke  and  Duchess  of  Cheviot,  with  their 
own  immediate  family  circle,  and  with  the  Earl  and  Countess 
of  Ornoch  and  the  Lady  Hinda  Moray,  left  Seton  Court  for 
their  marine  residence  at  Brunswick  Terrace,  Brighton. 

It  was  here  that  bad  news  reached  them  from  the  East. 

The  allied  forces  at  Varna  had  been  attacked  by  Asiatic 
cholera,  which  was  making  fearful  ravages  among  them. 

"  Hitherto,"  wrote  Surgeon  Kinlock  to  Lord  Wellrose, 
"Ensign  Douglas  has  escaped  the  plague;  but  he  devotes 
himself  with  unflagging  zeal  to  the  suffering  soldiers.  It  is 
next  to  impossible  but  that  he  must  fall  a  victim  to  his  own 
labors." 

On  reading  this,  the  Earl  of  Wellrose  was  filled  with  the 
most  painful  anxiety  on  Benny's  account. 

He  wrote  to  Benny,  imploring  him  to  take  care  of  him- 
self, and  not  to  throw  his  life  away. 

He  wrote  also  to  Doctor  Kinlock,  urging  him  to  use 
every  means  in  his  power  to  prevent  the  young  ensign  from 
sacrificing  himself. 

And  he  wrote  to  the  Colonel  of  the  regiment,  much  to  the 
same  effect,  adding  with  emphasis : 

"  He  is  my  kinsman  and  adopted  brother.  If  he  were 
my  own  brother,  he  could  not  seem  nearer  or  dearer  to  me ; 
I  could  not  feel  a  warmer  and  deeper  interest  in  his  life  and 
well-being." 

These  letters,  and  especially  the  one  addressed  to  the 
Colonel,  probably  saved  the  life  of  the  devoted  young  officer, 
for  shortly  after  their  receipt  at  Varna,  Ensign  Douglas  was 
detailed  on  duty  that  took  him  far  from  the  possibility  of 
sacrificing  his  life  for  the  cholera  patients. 

There  came  no  more  letters  from  Snzy.  Since  the  letter 
brought  by  the  ship  Lord  Stan?f>y,  the  lover  had  heard  noth- 


BENNY'S    RISE.  865 

ing  of  his  beloved.  And  whatever  cause  he  may  have  had 
to  doubt  her  love,  he  certainly  never  doubted  her  friendship 
or  her  punctuality.  He  justly  concluded  that  if  no  more 
letters  arrived  from  her,  it  was  because  the  Wendover,  in 
which  she  went  out,  had  spoken  no  other  homeward-bound 
ships  since  the  Revenon  and  the  Lord  Stanley.  She  would 
write  to  him,  he  thought,  as  soon  as  she  should  reach  port, 
and  in  due  time  he  should  receive  her  letter. 

And  meanwhile  his  beautiful  dark-eyed  cousin,  the  Lady 
Hinda  was  so  charming! 

More  news  came  from  the  Orient — very  important  news 
now.  The  allied  forces  had  invaded  the  Crimea,  had  been 
met  by  the  Russians  on  the  the  banks  of  the  Alma,  and  the 
great  battle  had  been  fought  and  won,  and  the  allies  were 
in  full  march  for  Sebastopol. 

A  private  letter  from  Surgeon  Kinlock  to  his  patron  the 
Earl  of  Wellrose  conveyed  the  additional  information  that 
Ensign  Douglas  had  greatly  distinguished  himself  on  the 
field  ;  that  he  had  not  only  preserved  his  own  colors,  but — 
wounded  and  bleeding  as  he  was — he  had  rescued  the  regi- 
mental colors  and  borne  them  into  the  English  lines,  where 
he  fell,  fainting  from  loss  of  blood. 

He  had  been  very  severely  wounded,  but  was  now  doing 
well,  and  in  a  very  fair  way  of  recovery.  He  had  also  been 
recommended  for  promotion. 

How  the  affectionate  and  generous  heart  of  the  young 
Earl  filled  and  glowed  with  pride  and  pleasure,  at  reading 
of  the  gallant  conduct  of  the  brave  young  "  kinsman  !  " 

"  I  knew  he  would  do  honor  to  the  name  I  gave  him,"  he 
said  to  himself. 

And  then  he  inclosed  the  surgeon's  letter  in  a  letter  of 
his  own  to  Suzy,  in  Australia,  bidding  her  read  the  inclosed 
and  see  what  Benny  had  already  done  with  his  colors,  and 
predicting  that  he  would  yet  plant  them,  if  not  on  the  walls 
of  St.  Petersburg,  certainly  on  those  of  Sebastopol. 


866  A      NOBLE      LORD. 

Just  as  he  was  about  to  send  these  letters  off  to  Suzy,  he 
received  one  from  her,  dated  on  the  day  of  her  arrival  at 
Sydney,  where  her  father  met  her. 

The  letter  was  written  in  a  very  friendly  style,  and  was 
filled  with  descriptions  of  the  town,  the  country  and  the 
people,  as  far  as  Suzy  had  had  the  opportunity  of  observing 
them. 

But  there  was  not  one  word  of  love  from  beginning  to 
end,  except  perhaps  in  the  rather  formal  greeting  of  "  Dear 
Lord  Wellrose,"  and  the  formal  ending  "Affectionately 
yours." 

And  Lord  Wellrose  would  have  grieved  very  much  over 
this  "cool  friendliness  "  in  his  betrothed,  if  it  had  not  been 
for  his  lovely  cousin  Hinda,  who  comforted  him. 

After  this,  the  news  from  the  Crimea  came  thick  and  fast. 

Balaclava  had  been  taken,  and  the  cry  of  the  allies  was 
still,  "On  to  Sebastopol!" 

Another  private  letter  from  Surgeon  Kinlock  to  Lord 
Wellrose  informed  his  lordship  that  Ensign  Douglas  had 
been  promoted  to  a  lieutenancy,  and  placed  upon  the  staff  of 
his  Colonel,  with  whom  he  was  now  a  deserving  favorite. 

The  next  mails  from  the  East  brought  proud  news.  The 
great  battle  of  Inkerman  had  been  fought,  and  a  glorious 
victory  won.  And  the  allied  armies  had  made  a  splendid 
march  to  Sebastopol,  and  were  now  before  the  walls  of  the 
city. 

Another  letter  from  Dr.  Kinlock  to  Lord  Wellrose  informed 
his  lordship  that  Lieutenant  Douglas  had  signally  distin- 
guished himself  at  Inkerman,  and  had  again  been  recom- 
mended for  promotion. 

And  again  the  generous  soul  of  the  young  Earl  rejoiced 
in  the  well-doing  of  his  protege.  And  this  letter  also  was 
sent  off  to  Suzy  in  Australia. 

In  due  time — a  long  time — her  answer  came  back  to  him. 

Among  other  things,  she  wrote  : 


BENNY'S    RISE.  367 

"You  have  plucked  'a  brand  from  the  burning/  which, 
I  trust,  will  light  all  your  onward  life  with  joy." 

After  this  there  came  a  lull  in  the  war-storm.  The  allied 
armies  were  before  Sebastopol.  And  the  siege  threatened  to 
be  a  long  one. 

Meanwhile,  in  February,  Parliament  met. 

The  Duke  and  Duchess  of  Cheviot,  with  all  the  rest  of  the 
great  world,  came  up  to  London  for  the  season. 

Lord  Wellrose  resumed  the  labors  of  humanity  to  which 
he  had  devoted  his  time  and  talents. 

Lady  Hinda  Moray  was  again  the  belle  of  Belgravia,  and 
generally  pronounced  more  beautiful  than  ever. 

And  this  was  certainly  true.  She  was  more  beautiful 
than  ever,  because  she  was  happier  than  ever.  The  light  of 
a  pure  and  peaceful  love  beamed  in  her  face  ;  for  she  loved 
the  noble  young  Earl  of  Wellrose,  and  she  knew  that  he 
loved  her  in  return. 

He  had  never  told  her  so,  but  all  his  self-control  had  failed 
to  conceal  the  blissful  truth  from  her  eyes. 

How  he  struggled  with  his  passion  !  How  he  told  him- 
self, day  and  night,  that  he  should  be  false  to  every  principle 
of  honor  and  manhood,  should  he  suffer  his  affections  to 
stray  from  his  betrothed. 

He  avoided  Hinda  as  much  as  possible  ;  though,  as  she 
was  his  mother's  guest  at  Cheviot  House  that  season,  com- 
mon courtesy  required  him  to  be  frequently  in  her  society. 

He  would  have  left  London  to  escape  temptation,  had  not 
his  parliamentary  duties  kept  him  in  town. 

He  wrote  to  Suzy  by  every  mail,  and  told  her  all  the  news 
of  the  day,  and  sent  her  papers,  magazines,  new  books  and 
new  music. 

But  his  letters  were  no  longer  the  ardent  outpourings  of 
passionate  love  they  had  once  been.  They  were  as  coolly 
friendly  and  matter-of-fact  as  her  own  had  always  been. 

And  meanwhile  the  mouths  slipped  away,  and  brought 


368  A     NOBLE     LORD. 

near  the  time  when  the  allied  armies  should  achieve  their 
great  triumph. 


CHAPTER  XXXIX. 

VICTORY     AND     DEATH. 

Come  when  his  task  of  fame  is  wrought — 
Come  with  her  laurel  wreath,  blood-bought— 

Come  in  her  crowning  hour — and  then. 
Thy  sunken  eye's  unearthly  light 
To  him  is  welcome  as  the  sight 

Of  sky  and  stars  to  prisoned  men. 
Thy  grasp  is  welcome  as  the  hand 
Of  brother  in  a  foreign  land. — HALLECK. 

IN  September  came  the  most  important  news.  The  allied 
armies  had  taken  Sebastopol,  and  the  Crimean  war  was  vir- 
tually at  an  end. 

This  news  found  the  Duke  and  Duchess  of  Cheviot,  with 
the  Earl  of  Wellrose  and  the  ladies  Hester  and  Eva  Doug- 
las, at  Cheviot  Castle,  where  they  were  spending  the  early 
autumn. 

While  they  were  still  discussing  the  great  victory,  a  pri- 
vate letter  arrived  from  Doctor  Kinlock  to  the  Earl  of  Well- 
rose. 

After  describing  the  taking  of  the  city,  he  went  on  to 
write : 

"Your  brave  kinsman,  Lieutenant  Douglas,  has  kept  his 
word.  With  his  own  hand  he  planted  his  colors  on  the 
walls  of  Sebastopol.  But  ah  !  in  doing  this,  in  the  face  of 
a  murderous  fire,  he  has  been  severely  wounded  by  a  bullet 
through  the  left  lobe  of  the  lungs.  He  has  been  recom- 
mended for  promotion,  but,  it  is  doubtful  whether  he  will 
live  to  profit  by  it.  Certainly  he  will  not,  if  he  stays  here. 
I  have  advised  him  to  be  sent  home  with  the  invalid  troops 
who  are  to  sail  for  England  in  a  few  days.'3 


VICTORY      AND      DEATH.  369 

Lord  Wellrose  groaned  as  lie  laid  this  letter  aside,  and  half 
bis  joy  in  the  great  victory  was  turned  into  grief. 

And  even  thus,  throughout  the  land,  the  public  rejoicing 
at  the  national  triumph  was  tempered  Ity  the  private 
mourning  of  those  whose  beloved  ones  had  bought  the  vic- 
tory with  their  blood. 

In  a  few  days  there  came  another  letter  from  Doctor  Kin- 
lock,  in  which  he  wrote : 

"  Young  Douglas  has  received  his  promotion.  He  is  now 
a  captain,  but  not  yet  assigned  to  any  company.  I  fear  he 
never  will  be.  He  is  sinking  slowly,  bnt  surely.  All  his 
desire,  now  that  the  war  may  be  said  to  be  over,  is  to  get 
back  to  England,  to  press  your  hand  once  more  and  die. 
If  I  were  not  hoping  from  day  to  day  that  his  desire  may 
be  granted,  and  that  he  may  be  sent  home,  I  should  even, 
entreat  your  lordship  to  come  out  here  and  comfort  the 
dying  boy,  whose  only  earthly  wish  is  to  see  your  face." 

"  I  will  go,"  said  Lord  Wellrose  to  himself;  then,  sud- 
denly recollecting  all  the  circumstances,  he  added :  "  Bnt  I 
might  miss  him.  Ah  !  he  might  be  on  his  way  home  while 
I  should  be  on  my  way  out.  I  must  wait  for  another  letter 
from  Kinlock,  I  suppose.  And  Douglas  is  so  ill  !  he  may 
die  in  the  interval." 

As  these  troubled  thoughts  passed  through  his  mind,  he 
turned  over  a  leaf  of  his  letter  and  read  a  paragraph  dated 
a  day  later,  and  which  was  as  follows : 

*  *  *  "I  had  written  so  far  when  I  received  a  message 
summoning  me  to  head-quarters.  I  immediately  reported 
there,  and  instantly  received  orders  to  go  to  England,  by 
the  Relief,  in  charge  of  a  party  of  invalid  troops.  Captain 
Douglas  goes  with  us.  I  am  extremel}'  glad  of  this,  as  I 
shall  be  able  to  attend  personally  on  him  during  the  voy- 
age. We  s'lil  for  Southampton  the  day  after  to-morrow. 
23 


370  A      NOBLE     LORD. 

So  you  may  expect  us  very  soon  after  the  receipt  of  this 
letter,  if  you  do  not  see  us  before." 

"And  so  he  is  coming  home,  and  I  shall  see  him  again, 
poor,  brave,  gentle  boy !  I  thank  the  Lord  for  this.  And 
who  shall  say  that  home  air  and  kind  friends  and  good 
nursing  may  not  save  his  life  and  restore  his  health  ?  "  said 
the  Earl  to  himself,  as  he  folded  this  letter  and  laid  it  aside. 

Then  he  rang  for  his  valet,  who  immediately  appeared. 

"  Perkins,  pack  my  portmanteau,  and  order  the  trap  for 
four  o'clock,  to  take  us  to  the  railway  station.  We  leave  for 
London  by  the  5:45  train,"  said  the  Earl,  as  he  passed  out 
of  his  room  to  notify  his  mother  of  his  sudden  journey. 

He  found  the  Duchess  and  her  daughters  in  their  delight- 
ful morning  room,  with  the  great  bay-windows  overhanging 
the  sea. 

They  were  at  work  on  various  little  fancy  articles  for  a 
charity  fair,  to  be  held  in  aid  of  the  widows  and  orphans  of 
the  war. 

They  looked  up  from  their  graceful  work  and  welcomed 
the  beloved  son  and  brother  with  smiles. 

And  the  Duchess  drew  a  chair  near  to  herself,  for  him  to 
take. 

"Thanks,  mother,  dear:  no.  I  cannot  sit.  1  am  leaving 
for  London  by  the  5:45  train,"  he  said,  leaning  over  the 
back  of  the  chair. 

"  This  is  very  sudden,  Wellrose,"  she  remarked,  raising 
her  brows  in  surprise. 

"  Yes ;  but  1  go  to  meet  a  friend  who  is  returning  from 
the  Crimea  wounded,  perhaps  dying." 

"  Oh,  go,  then,  at  once,  if  you  can  be  of  any  service  to 
him.  It  is  a  holy  duty.  Who  is  he?"  inquired  the 
Duchess. 

"Captain  Douglas,  of  the  —  Regiment  of  Foot." 

"Douglas  ?     Is  he  a  connection  of  our  family  ?  " 


VICTORY     AND     DEATH.  371 

"  Most  probably;  there  are  so  many  Douglases — as  many 
Douglases  as  Campbells,  I  should  think." 

"  Very  true.     But  your  friend — how  does  he  come  ?  " 

"  He  comes  in  the  Belief,  which  sailed  from  Gallipoli  for 
Southampton,  with  invalided  troops  on  board  in  charge  of 
Dr.  Kinlock." 

"  Kinlock  is  coming  home,  then  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  having  charge  of  these  sick  and  wounded  men,  as 
I  said.  The  ship  may  be  expected  at  Southampton  any 
day  now ;  and  I  wish  to  be  there  to  meet  my  poor  friend." 

"You  are  quite  right.  Go,  dear.  And  remember,  that 
if  we  can  be  of  any  use  to  your  wounded  friend,  you  must 
call  upon  us,"  said  the  kind-hearted  Duchess,  as  she  em- 
braced and  dismissed  her  son  to  his  humane  errand. 

The  "trap"  was  announced. 

And  the  Earl,  attended  by  his  valet,  entered  it,  and  was 
driven  rapidly  to  the  rustic  station,  which  he  reached  just  in 
time  to  catch  the  night  express  to  London. 

His  servant  took  tickets  in  a  great  hurry. 

And  in  a  few  minutes  Lord  Wellrose  found  himself  com- 
fortabiy  seated  in  a  first-class  carriage,  flying  southward. 

He  reached  London  in  the  small  hours  of  the  morning, 
and  passed  from  the  Great  Northern  to  the  South-Western 
railway  train,  with  which  it  connected  ;  and  so  he  continued 
his  flight  to  the  sea  as  if  he  had  been  flying  for  his  life. 

He  reached  Southampton  in  time  for  an  early  breakfast. 

He  took  apartments  at  the  "  Lord  Admiral."  And  after 
a  refreshing  bath  and  change  of  dress,  and  a  good  breakfast, 
he  set  out  to  walk  down  to  the  docks,  to  inquire  for  the 
expected  ship. 

He  was  more  fortunate  than  he  could  have  hoped  to  be. 
The  ship  had  just  arrived,  and  was  at  anchor  about  half  a 
mile  from  the  land. 

A  steam  tender  was  already  leaving  the  shore  to  bring 
her  passengers  to  land. 


372  A      NOBLE     LOUD. 

By  presence  of  mind  and  promptitude  in  passing  a  few 
shillings  to  the  men  who  were  withdrawing  the  gang  plank, 
Lord  Wellrose  succeeded  in  boarding  the  "tender"  at  the 
last  moment,  and  was  soon  steaming  out  toward  the  Relit*/. 

In  a  few  momenta  the  tender  was  alongside  of  the  ship. 

The  decks  of  the  Relief  was  crowded  with — what  ? 

Were  these  men  "  ghosts"  or  shadows  ? 

They  might  have  been  Charon's  passengers  crossing  the 
Styx.  So  pale,  so  thin,  so  ghastly  they  were  ! 

Living  skeletons  crowned  with  death's  heads  ! 

Here  were  the  maimed,  the  halt  and  the  blind ;  the  sick, 
the  dying  and  the  dead. 

Yes,  and  ( the  dead.'  Many  had  died  on  the  passage,  and 
had  been  buried  in  the  sea.  But  some  had  died  within  a 
few  hours ;  so  recently,  so  near  home,  that  their  bodies  had 
been  saved,  to  be  given  to  their  friends. 

Lord  Wellrose,  from  his  youth  up,  had  been  accustomed 
to  sights  of  misery,  in  his  frequent  personal  ministrations 
to  the  wretched.  But  he  had  never  seen  anything  like 
this.  And  he  grew  sick  and  dizzy  as  he  gazed. 

Soon  the  bustle  of  transferring  these  poor  wrecks  of  man- 
hood from  the  ship  to  the  tender  attracted  his  attention. 

Some  managed  to  crawl  without  assistance,  and  then  drop 
down  helplessly  upon  the  deck  of  the  tender. 

Some  crept  on,  leaning  on  the  arms  of  comrades. 

And  some  were  carried  bodily,  like  dead  weights. 

Lord  Weilrose  was  a  stranger  to  all  present.  In  his 
breathless  anxiety  to  know  the  fate  of  Benny,  he  would 
have  questioned  one  or  more  of  the  men.  But  their  suffer- 
ing seemed  so  great,  their  self-absorption  so  complete,  that 
the  young  Earl  restrained  himself,  forbore  to  trouble  them 
and  endured  his  suspense  as  well  as  he  could. 

At  length  the  form  for  which  he  so  eagerly  watched, 
appeared.  But,  oh  !  how  changed  ! 

Was  this  a  man  in  the  tlesh,  or  a  disembodied  spirit,  that 


VICTORY      AND     DEATH.  873 

approached,  leaning  on  the  arm  of  the  middle-aged  surgeon, 
Dr.  Kinlock  ? 

Benny  was  clothed  in  his  old,  war-worn,  battle-stained 
uniform,  that  hung  loosely  upon  his  emaciated  figure.  His 
face  was  so  thin  that  it  had  taken  an  almost  triangular 
shape  from  the  broad  forehead,  down  the  hollow  cheeks  to 
the  sharp  chin.  His  complexion  was  so  bloodless,  that 
"  pale "  would  riot  describe  it ;  it  was  a  clear,  fair,  trans- 
parent bluish  white.  His  large  blue  eyes,  sunk  in  their 
deep,  shadowy  hollows,  seemed  larger,  bluer  and  brighter 
than  before.  His  golden  hair  had  faded  to  a  silvery  fair- 
ness. And  in  a  word,  if  Benny  was  dying,  he  was  as 
beautiful  in  death  as  is  a  setting  star. 

So  thought  the  Earl  of  Wellrose,  as  he  came  gently  for- 
ward and  took  the  wan  hand,  and  said,  with  suppressed 
emotion  : 

"  Oh,  my  dear  Benjamin !  I  thank  God  that  you  have 
lived  to  get  home.  And  now  we  will  hope  that  good  air 
and  good  nursing  will  restore  your  health." 

The  face  of  the  young  soldier  grew  radiant  with  joy,  as  he 
grasped  the  hand  of  the  Earl  between  both  his  own,  exclaim- 
ing: 

"  Yes,  thank  God  !  I  thank  God  that  I  live  to  see  you 
once  more  !  Now  I  am  willing  to  die !" 

"  We  will  not  talk  of  death.  We  will  not  have  you  die. 
You  have  everything  to  live  for  now,  Benjamin,"  said  the 
Earl. 

But  a  violent  fit  of  coughing  seized  the  invalid,  and  he 
turned  and  crept  away  to  the  side  of  the  ship,  and  sank 
down  upon  a  seat  to  recover  himself. 

"  And  now,  Dr.  Kinlock,  welcome  home.  And  much 
thanks  for  your  devotion  to  my — cousin,  here,"  said  the 
young  Earl,  cordially  shaking  hands  with  the  surgeon, 
whom,  however,  in  the  first  moments  of  meeting  Benny,  he 
had  forgotten. 


874  A     NOBLE     LORD. 

"Thanks,  ray  lord.  I  am  very  happy  myself  in  the 
thought  that  I  have  hronght  Captain  Douglas  safe  to 
England.  And  for  more  reasons  than  one,"'  added  the 
surgeon  so  emphatically,  that  the  young  Earl  looked  in- 
quiringly at  him,  as  though  he  would  have  asked : 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  He  is  your  cousin,  you  say,  my  lord,"  remarked  the  sur- 
geon, in  answer  to  the  unuttered  question. 

"  All  the  Douglases  are  cousins,  you  know,"  replied  the 
Earl,  with  a  smile. 

"  Like  the  Stuarts,  and  the  Camphells,  and  the  other 
Scottish  clans.  But  is  that  all,  my  lord  ?  "  inquired  the 
doctor,  in  a  low  voice. 

"  That  is  all,  so  far  as  I  know,"  replied  the  Earl,  in  a 
grave  and  somewhat  surprised  and  questioning  manner. 

"  Then,  my  lord,"  said  Dr.  Kinlock  solemnly,  "I  have 
something  to  tell  you  that  I  fear  will  startle  your  lordship 
considerably.  But  not  now  ;  not  now  !  See,  my  patient  is 
recovering  himself.  Ah,  poor  fellow  !  he  is  so  sensitive ! 
When  he  gets  into  those  violent  fits  of  coughing,  he  shrinks 
from  observation  like  a  wounded  animal.  But  here  he 
comes,"  added  the  surgeon,  as  he  arose  and  gave  Benny  his 
arm  to  support  him  to  the  side  of  the  ship. 

Lord  Wellrose  also  lent  his  aid,  and  thus  the  Earl  and 
the  surgeon  got  the  invalid  on  board  the  tender,  and  placed 
him  on  some  cushions  in  the  stern  of  the  deck. 

Benny  sank  down  with  a  sigh  of  relief,  and  wearily 
closed  his  eyes  and  dropped  off  into  the  sleep  of  prostration. 

The  young  Earl,  standing  over  him,  gazed  mournfully 
down  upon  the  fair,  wan,  wasted  face,  and  then  raised  his 
eyes  inquiringly  to  the  surgeon. 

Doctor  Kinlock  gravely  shook  his  head,  and  sighed. 

And  the  Earl  was  answered. 

The  sick  and  wounded  men  were  still  coming  on  board. 

"  Where  are  all  these  poor  creatures  to  be  taken,  doctor  ?  " 


VICTORY      AND      DEATH.  375 

inquired   the    young  Earl,  regarding   the   suffering   crowd 
compassionately. 

"To  the  Military  Hospitals  at  Wai  worth,  for  the  present, 
where  I  have  orders  to  deliver  them  over  to  the  surgeon  in 
charge,"  replied  the  surgeon, 

"  Is  Captain  Douglas  expected  to  go  with  them  ?  " 

"That  will  be  at  his  own  option.  He  is  on  sick  leave. 
He  can  go  to  the  hospital  to  be  treated,  if  he  please,  or  ho 
can  go  anywhere  else,  if  he  prefer,"  replied  the  surgeon. 

"And  yourself,  doctor?"  inquired  the  young  Earl,  after 
a  pause, 

"  Oh,  I  shall  be  on  leave  also.  After  I  have  delivered  over 
my  charge,  I  shall  be  at  liberty  to  go  anywhere.  I  have 
scarcely  thought  yet  where  I  shall  go.  My  old  home  at 
Seton  is  standing  still ;  but  I  am  an  old  bachelor,  without 
any  particular  attraction  there  more  than  elsewhere,"  said 
the  surgeon  with  a  bitter-sweet  smile. 

"  Then,  doctor,  I  have  a  proposal  to  make  you,  and  I  shall 
be  very  glad  if  it  meet  your  views.  I  have  nothing  in  this 
world  to  occupy  me  at  present,  and  I  think  I  cannot  employ 
my  leisure  better  than  by  devoting  it  to  this  brave  young 
man,  who  has  no  near  relative  to  look  after  him.  I  shall 
invite  him  to  be  my  guest,  and  so  I  shall  take  charge  of 
him.  And  if  you  can  kindly  favor  us  with  your  company, 
we  shall  be  very  happy  to  have  you.  What  do  you  say ?  " 
inquired  Lord  Wellrose. 

"Thanks,  my  lord;  but  where  do  you  propose  to  go?" 
asked  the  surgeon. 

"I  must  take  your  advice  upon  that  question.  We  have 
all  Britain  to  choose  from.  And  of  course.  Captain  Douglas' 
health  must  be  our  first  consideration.  What  do  you  coun- 
eel  ?  " 

The  surgeon  reflected  for  a  moment,  but  did  not  reply. 
And  the  Earl  continued  : 

"  I  am  willing  and-'anxious  to  go  anywhere  to  benefit  the 


376  A      NOBLE      LORD. 

health  of  Douglas.  I  wish  to  save  his  life,  if  possible.  I 
would  spare  neither  pains  nor  cost  to  do  so." 

"And  —  in  other  respects,  is  it  equally  immaterial  to 
your  lordship  where  you  go?"  inquired  Doctor  Kinlock. 

"Equally,!  assure  you.  I  have  hut  one  wish  in  this 
matter — to  save  Douglas,  if  it  be  possible.  Here  is  the  Isle 
of  Wight  not  far  off.  .What  do  you  say  to  that  ?  " 

"I  don't  recommend  it,  my  lord." 

"The  south  coast  here,  then — Brighton,  Torquaj*,  Pen- 
zance  ?  " 

"  No,  my  lord  ;  he  has  had  enough  of  the  sea  air." 

"  Then,  niy  dear  Kinlock,  suggest  something  yourself," 
said  the  Earl. 

"  Then,  my  lord,  I  should  certainly  recommend  the  brac- 
ing air  of  the  Highlands." 

''  The  Highlands !  "  echoed  Lord  Wellrose  in  some  sur- 
prise. 

"  Yes,  my  lord,  the  Highlands — decidedly  the  Highlands," 
repeated  the  surgeon. 

"  This  is  certainly  the  season  when  many  invalids  go  to 
the  Highlands,  but  not  consumptive  invalids.  And  Captain 
Douglas  I  should  take  to  be  consumptive." 

"'  He  is  not  so,  in  the  usual  acceptation  of  the  word,  my 
lord.  He  is  suffering  more  from  general  debility  than  from 
an}'  other  cause.  And  by  general  debility,  in  his  case,  1 
mean  a  general  and  profound  depression  of  body,  mind  and 
spirit.  Look  at  him  now,  as  he  sleeps.  He  scarcely  seems 
to  live  pr  breathe.  He  lies  as  one  dead." 

The  young  Earl  followed  the  direction  of  the  doctor's 
glance,  and  sighed  deeply.  And  then  he  said : 

"  He  shall  go  to  the  Highlands.  And  I  deem  myself 
very  fortunate  in  being  able  to  offer  him  a  home  quieter  and 
more  comfortable  than  any  hotel  or  lodging-house  to  b,e 
found  in  those  regions.  The  family  are  at  Cheviot  Castle 
this  season.  And  thus  Setoii  Court  is  left  in  charge  of  the 


VICTORY      AND      UK  A  T  TT.  877 

housekeeper  and  steward  and  a  few  old  retainers,  who  will 
all  be  glad  to  see  us.  What  do  you  say  to  the  plan,  Doc- 
tor ?  " 

"  It  is  an  excellent  one." 

"  Then,  as  soon  as  we  get  back  to  my  hotel,  I  will  tele- 
graph to  the  housekeeper  to  have  the  rooms  aired  and  every- 
thing ready  for  us.  Of  course  you  will  go  with  us.  That 
is  understood,  I  hope  ?  " 

"Yes,  my  lord,  I  shall  be  most  happy." 

"  Right.  You  will  also  be  near  your  old  village  home, 
•which  will  be  an  advantage,"  added  the  Earl. 

And  while  he  spoke,  as  the  last  of  the  sick  and  wounded 
had  been  brought  on  board,  the  tender  dropped  away  from 
the  side  of  the  great  ship,  and  steamed  toward  the  shore. 

As  soon  as  she  touched  the  pier,  the  bustle  of  landing  the 
invalided  troops  began.  Many  among  them  had  friends 
•who  had  come  down  to  meet  them.  And  their  meeting 
added  to  the  confusion. 

The  noise  awoke  Benny,  who  opened  his  eyes  and  looked 
wearily  around  until  his  glance  met  the  face  of  the  Earl 
when  he  smiled  radiantlj'. 

Dr.  Kinlock  was  very  much  engaged  in  superintending 
the  landing  of  the  invalids  under  his  charge. 

But  Lord  Wellrose  himself  went  on  shore  and  engaged  a 
carriage,  and  had  it  drawn  up  as  near  as  permissible  to  the 
steamer.  And  then  he  raised  Benny,  and  supported  him 
tenderly  to  the  carnage,  and  placed  him  comfortably  in  it. 

And  Lord  Wellrose,  taking  Benny's  fair  head  upon  his 
breast,  gave  the  order  to  the  coachman  to  drive  slowly  to  the 
"  Lord  Admiral." 

On  reaching  that  hotel,  his  lordship's  groom  and  valet 
were  found  to  be  in  attendance. 

And  with  their  assistance,  Captain  Douglas  was  taken  up 
to  the  rooms  that  had  been  engaged  for  his  accommodation, 
and  laid  upon  a  comfortable  lounge. 


378  A      NOBLE     LORD. 

Lord  Wellrose  ordered  a  dainty  luncheon,  such  as  he  hoped 
might  tempt  the  invalid's  delicate  appetite.  And  then  he 
came  and  sat  by  Benny's  lounge,  and  took  his  wasted  hand, 
and  said  : 

"  We  will  soon  bring  you  around,  my  boy.  English  air 
and  English  fare  will  soon  restore  you." 

"  It  is  rest  and  peace — it  is  meat  and  drink — only  for  me 
to  lie  here  and  look  at  you,"  said  Benny,  with  a  tone  and 
glance  of  such  pure  love  and  perfect  content,  that  reached 
the  young  Earl's  heart. 

"  I  really  do  believe  you  like  me,  Douglas,"  said  the  Earl, 
with  a  smile. 

"  Like  you  ! "  echoed  Benny,  with  a  look  of  ineffable 
affection — "like  you  !  Why,  you  have  changed  all  my  life 
from  darkness  to  light  !  You  have  made  life  bright  to  me, 
and  even  death  easy  !  " 

"  But  we  will  not  talk  of  death.  We  will  have  nothing  to 
do  with  death  at  present,  on  any  terms  whatever.  You  are 
going  home  with  me  to  Seton  Court,  where  you  and  I  will 
live  together,  en  garcon,  for  a  few  weeks,  and  where  our 
good,  motherly  old  housekeeper  will  nurse  you  back  to  health. 
Setou  Court  is  at  the  foot  of  the  mountain,  and  at  the  head 
of  the  loch.  It  is  one  of  the  most  sublime  and  beautiful 
places  in  the  Highlands.  Tourists  make  pilgrimages  to  it ; 
artists  paint  it ;  poets  be-rhyme  it.  I  feel  sure  that  you  will 
like  it." 

"  I  feel  sure  that  I  shall  like  any  place  where  I  may  only 
lie  and  look  at  you  till  I  die,"  said  Benny,  affectionately. 

"  Die,  again  !  I  say  we  will  have  no  d3ring.  And  here 
comes  luncheon,  which  looks  more  like  living,"  said  the 
young  Earl  pleasanth',  as  the  waiter  entered  to  lay  the  cloth, 
followed  by  an  assistant  with  a  well-laden  tray  in  his  hands. 

By  the  Earl's  direction,  the  waiter  drew  a  table  up  by  the 
side  of  the  invalid's  lounge,  laid  the  cloth  and  arranged  the 
luncheon  upon  it.  There  were  fresh  oysters,  fragrant  soup,  a 


VICTORY      AND      DEATH.  379 

roasted  pheasant;  some  light,  delicious  wine;  ripe  peaches, 
apricots  and  grapes. 

And  then,  because  Lord  Wellrose  with  his  own  hand 
served  the  invalid  with  the  most  choice  of  the  viands  spread 
before  him,  Benny  tried  to  eat,  and  found,  to  his  surprise, 
that  he  really  could  do  so,  for  appetite  came  with  touch  and 
taste  and  smell. 

"  And  now  try  a  little  of  this  Moselle,"  said  the  Earl. 
And  though  two  waiters  were  in  attendance,  with  his  own 
hand  he  filled  Benny's  glass  and  passed  it  to  him,  knowing 
that  the  wine  would  really  do  him  more  good  when  poured 
by  a  loved  hand. 

For  these  two  unconscious  brothers  loved  each  other  "  with 
a  love  passing  the  love  of  woman." 

After  luncheon,  Benny  fell  asleep  again,  with  his  hand 
clasped  in  the  hand  of  the  Earl. 

Lord  Wellrose  did  not  leave  him  until  night.  And  then 
he  left  him  comfortably  in  bed,  with  his  own  valet,  Perkins, 
to  sleep  in  the  room. 

Lord  Wellrose  was  engaged  in  looking  over  the  evening 
paper,  when  Dr.  Kinlock's  card  was  brought  to  him. 

He  requested  that  the  doctor  should  be  shown  up. 

And  in  a  few  moments  Dr.  Kinlock  entered  the  room. 

"  I've  got  them  all  off  my  hands  at  length,  poor  fellows, 
and  heartily  glad  I  am  of  it,"  said  the  surgeon,  as,  at  the 
Earl's  invitation,  he  dropped  into  a  chair. 

The  Earl  congratulated  him.  And  then  he  reported 
Benny's  condition,  and  inquired  of  the  doctor  what  the 
chances  might  be  for  his  restoration  to  health. 

But  the  doctor  was  very  reserved  in  giving  his  opinion. 
He  said  that  young  Douglas  must  always  have  been  consti- 
tutionally very  delicate,  and  that  he  would  seem  to  have 
suffered,  in  his  childhood,  from  much  neglect,  privation  and 
exposure,  that  had  still  further  undermined  his  fragile 
health. 


380  A      NO  BLR     LORD. 

"I  fear  it  has  been  so  indeed,"  sighed  the  Earl. 

"  You  care  very  much  for  this  youug  man,  my  lord,"  said 
the  surgeon. 

"  I  care  so  much  for  him  that  there  is  not  another  man  on 
earth,  except  nay  father,  that  I  prefer  before  him,"  said  the 
Earl  earnestly. 

"  You  have  known  him  long,  my  lord,  I  presume." 

"  I  have  known  him  since  his  childhood,  though  for  many 
years  I  lost  sight  of  him." 

"  And  you  do  not  know,  I  think  you  once  said,  exactly  in 
what  degree  of  relationship,  if  in  any,  he  stands  to  your 
lordship  ?  » 

"  I  do  not  indeed,"  said  the  Earl,  gazing  upon  the  surgeon 
in  surprise  and  questioning. 

"  Then,  my  lord,  I  fear  I  am  going  to  startle  your  lord- 
ship very  much.  I  have  not  yet  let  the  secret  pass  my  lips 
even  to  him.  But  it  is  my  painful  duty  to  reveal  it  to  your 
lordship.  I  wish  you  could — could  spare  me  by  antici- 
pating it.  But  -your  lordship  has  no  suspicion  of  the  par- 
entage of  this  young  man  ?  " 

"None." 

"LORD  WELLROSE.  HE  is  YOUR  OWN  BROTHER!" 


CHAPTER  XL. 


PROOFS. 


ConcralmoTit  is  no  more.    They  speak 

All  cncumsuinco  that  may  compel 

Full  credence  to  the  tale  they  tell. — BYRON. 


11  GOOD  Heaven,  man  !  "  exclaimed  the  Earl,  standing  up, 
and  staring  at  the  surgeon  as  if  he  thought  him  insane. 

"  Your  own  brother.  Earl  of  Wellrose,  the  son  of  your 
own  father  and  mother,"  continued  the  surgeon. 


P  HOOFS.  381 

"  MAN,  you  are  mad  to  say  it !  "  exclaimed  the  Earl. 

"  Your  elder  brother,  my  lord  ;  born  two  years  before  you 
saw  the  light,"  persisted  the  surgeon,  rising  and  standing 
before  the  Earl. 

"You  must  utterly  have  lost  your  reason.  Sit  down,  I 
beg  you,  and  try  to  collect  your  thoughts,"  said  Lord  Well- 
rose,  who  was  himself  profoundly  agitated,  not  only  by  the 
suddenness,  strangeness  and  importance  of  this  revelation, 
but  by  something  also  in  his  own  mind  that  assured  him  of 
its  truth. 

"  I  will  sit  down,  and  be  very  quiet.  And  do  you  also 
follow  your  own  advice  and  my  example,"  calmly  replied 
the  surgeon,  as  he  resumed  his  seat. 

The  Earl  of  Wellrose  sank  into  a  chair,  saying : 

"  Uow,  in  the  name  of  Heaven,  give  me  your  reasons,  if 
you  can  possibly  have  any,  for  making  this  most  astounding 
statement." 

"  My  lord,  I  will.  But  permit  me  first  to  put  a  question. 
Does  your  lordship  remember  ever  to  have  heard  of  an 
elder  brother,  the  son  of  your  parents'  early  marriage,  who 
was  said  to  have  died  in  his  infancy  ?  "  gravely  inquired 
Doctor  Kinlock. 

"Oh,  yes;  quite  often.  My  dearest  mother  has  fre- 
quently spoken  with  me  about  that  little  lost  one,"  said  the 
Earl,  thoughtfully. 

"  Your  lordship  is  then  aware  of  all  the  circumstances 
under  which  that  child  was  born,  and  was  supposed  to  have 
died  ?  " 

«  Yes." 

"  Will  your  lordship  pardon  me  for  asking  you,  in  the 
interests  of  justice,  to  recount  those  circumstances  ?  " 

"  Most  certainly.  My  father  and  mother,  as  is  now  gen- 
erally known,  were  first  privately  married  in  London. 
Their  first  child,  my  elder  brother,  was  born  some  ten 
months  afterward  at  Oruoch  Castle,  in  Scotland.  For  cor- 


382  A      NOBLE      LORD. 

tain  reasons  he  was  taken  by  Dr.  Seton,  the  attendant  phy- 
sician, to  be  put  out  at  nurse.  But  being  very  fragile,  he 
died  the  same  night,  while  under  the  charge  of  the  doctor." 
i  "  Those  are  the  circumstances  as  known  to  your  lord- 
ship ?  " 

"  Those  are  the  circumstances  as  known  to  me." 

"  Then,  Lord  Wellrose,  I  have  this  to  add :  That  brother 
did  not  die,  as  was  supposed.  That  brother  lives  now,  in 
the  person  of  Benjamin  Seton  Douglas,"  said  the  surgeon, 
gravely. 

"  After  your  first  startling  disclosure,  I  expected  to  hear 
this  also.  But  now  tell  me  what  proofs  you  possess  of  the 
truth  of  this  story,"  said  the  Earl,  with  more  calmness 
than  could  have  been  expected. 

"  Certainly,  my  lord.  I  should  surely  never  expect  you 
to  receive  this  statement  without  proof.  To  begin  with, 
then,  I  must  remind  your  lordship  that  at  the  time  of  .your 
elder  brother's  birth,  I  was  the  pupil  and  assistant  of  Doc- 
tor Seton,  the  medical  attendant  of  your  mother." 

"  I  know." 

"On  that  wild  March  night,  when  your  elder  brother  was 
born,  I  sat  up  till  morning,  waiting  for  the  doctor's  return. 
In  the  gray  dawn  of  the  morning  he  came  home,  bringing 
with  him  the  dead  body  of  a  newly  born  male  child,  which 
he  represented  to  be  the  child  of  a  charity  patient  named 
Magdalene  Hurst.  He  said  that  he  had  brought  it  to  the 
house  for  post-mortem  examination  and  then  burial.  With 
my  assistance  he  performed  the  autopsy.  And  the  same  day 
the  death  was  duly  registered,  and  the  child  was  buried." 

"And  this  child  was  not  my  elder  brother?" 

"No.  This  child  was  what  Doctor  Seton  represented 
him  to  me  to  be — the  child  of  a  charitj'  patient  who  was  too 
poor  to  bury  him.  Your  infant  brother,  very  fragile  indeed, 
but  still  living,  lay  then  upon  the  bosom  of  that  woman, 
Magdalene  Hurst,  who,  while  in  a  state  of  unconsciousness, 


PROOFS.  383 

had  been  bereaved  of  her  own  babe,  and  had  had  this  one, 
your  infant  elder  brother,  dressed  in  its  clothes  and  put  in 
its  place  by  her  side,  and  so  palmed  off  upon  her  as  her  own. 
Pardon  me,  Lord  Wellrose,  for  telling  you  these  truths." 

"  It  is  your  duty  to  tell  me  them,  since  you  believe  them. 
And  you  say  that  you  have  proof." 

"  I  have  proof,  my  lord." 

"  Go  on,  then  !  " 

"  The  child  of  Magdalene  Hurst  died,  and  was  buried,  as 
I  said.  The  child  of  William  and  Eglantine  Douglas,  now 
Duke  and  Duchess  of  Cheviot,  lay  on  her  bosom  in  its  stead. 
And  yet  Magdalene  Hurst  knew  nothing  of  this  fraud  that 
had  substituted  the  living  noble  for  the  dead  peasant." 

"  Go  on  !  go  on  ! " 

"  At  length,  however,  the  old  nurse,  who  had  been  Dr. 
Seton's  only  confederate  in  this  ' pious  fraud' — as  the  old 
doctor  honestly  considered  it — came  upon  her  death-bed,  and 
being  smitten  with  remorse,  summoned  Magdalene  Hurst  to 
receive  her  confession.  And  when  Magdalene  came,  she 
told  the  astonished  woman  of  the  fraud  that  had  been  put 
upon  her.  And  then,  before  she  could  utter  another  word, 
she  died,  leaving  the  woman  in  perfect  ignorance  of  the  real 
parentage  of  her  foster-child,  or  of  any  clue  by  which  she 
might  discover  it." 

"  The  last  part  of  this  story  I  have  heard  already,  from 
Benjamin  ;  but  there  was  nothing  in  the  part  told  me  to  lead 
me  to  suspect  that  Benjamin  was  more  than  a  distant  kins- 
man of  the  family.  Oh  !  good  Heaven  !  if  your  story  be 
true,  as  you  believe  it,  how  much,  how  dreadfully,  how 
awfully  has  my  brother  been  wronged  !  "  said  the  young 
Earl,  earnestly. 

The  surgeon  looked  at  him  in  amazement  and  admiration. 
Here  was  no  selfish  consideration  of  his  own  lost  rank  as 
eldest  son  and  heir — only  the  thought  how  much  his  brother 
had  been  wronged ! 


384  A     NOBLE      LORD. 

"  As  yet,  Lord  Wellrose,"  he  said,  "  I  have  produced  no 
proof  of  the  truth  of  what  I  have  advanced.  I  proceed  to 
do  so  now.  I  was,  as  I  said  before,  and  as  your  lordship 
knows,  a  pupil  and  assistant  of  Dr.  Seton.  I  was  with  him 
in  the  latter  years  of  his  life,  and  I  attended  him  in  his  last 
illness,  and  on  his  death-bed.  I  was  with  him  when  he  sent 
in  haste  for  your  father  and  mother,  saying  that  he  had  a, 
disclosure  to  make  to  them.  I  was  with  him  when  they  came 
to  his  death-bed  side.  But  they  came  too  late — the  power 
of  speech  had  left  him.  And  it  was  awful  to  stand  there 
and  see  his  agonizing  efforts  to  make  the  disclosure  he  had 
summoned  them  to  hear.  He  died  and  took  the  secret  with 
him  to  the  grave,  as  every  one  supposed." 

"  My  mother  always  feared  it  concerned  her  first-born 
son,"  said  the  Earl. 

"  Her  maternal  instincts  were  true.  It  did  concern  him. 
Dr.  Seton  died,  and  was  buried  ;  and  I,  his  assistant  and 
heir,  Christopher  Kinlock,  succeeded  to  his  property  and  to 
his  practice.  And  years  passed  on.  The  doctor's  death  was 
a  thing  of  the  past.  His  unrevealed  secret  was  forgotten." 

"  Not  by  all !  Not  by  my  father  and  my  mother !  I 
think  that  all  their  lives  they  have  been  troubled,  at  times, 
by  the  recollection  of  the  doctor's  death-bed  and  speculation 
as  to  the  nature  of  that  disclosure  which  he  tried  and  failed 
to  make  them.  But  I  interrupt  you.  Pray  go  on  !" 

"  A  long  time  passed.  A  generation  grew  up.  This 
Russian  war  broke  out.  I  wished  for  a  surgeon's  commission 
in  the  army,  and  through  the  Duke  of  Cheviot's  kindness  I 
obtained  it.  I  had  to  break  up  my  bachelor's  establishment 
in  Seton — the  establishment,  in  fact,  I  had  inherited  from 
my  predecessor.  Among  the  furniture  that  I  had  determined 
to  dispose  of  was  an  old  writing  desk  and  bookcase.  I  had 
emptied  it  of  all  its  apparent  contents,  and  then  ordered  it 
to  be  carried  away  to  the  auctioneer.  But  in  moving  the 
old  mouldering  desk  it  fell  to  pieces,  and  revealed  a  secret 


PROOFS.  385 

drawer  filled  with  papers.  I  took  possession  of  the  papers 
which  at  first  glance  seemed  to  be  only  old  love-letters  and 
old  memoranda  of  debts — secret  debts,  I  mean.  I  had  no 
time  to  look  into  them  then.  Your  lordship  knows  how 
sudden  my  appointment  was,  and  how  quickly  I  was  called 
upon  to  report  for  duty," 

"  Yes,  of  course  I  know." 

"  So,  having  no  time  to  examine  these  papers,  which  I  did 
not  indeed  think  of  much  importance,  but  which  a  morbid 
curiosity  incited  me  to  read  when  I  should  find  time,  I  bun- 
dled them  all  up  and  packed  them  into  my  trunk  to  look 
over  at  my  leisure.  I  took  them  with  me  to  the  Crimea.  I 
had  no  idea  of  their  immense  value  to  one.  I  had  put  them 
in  the  bottom  of'my  trunk.  And  in  the  terrible  scenes  that 
followed  I  forgot  them.  Later  on,  my  young  friend,  Lieu- 
tenant Douglas,  was  dangerously  wounded.  '  If  I  die,  Dr. 
Kinlock,  take  charge  of  my  effects,  and  send  them  to  Lord 
Wellrose,'  he  said,  as  he  lapsed  into  unconsciousness.  I  took 
charge  of  his  boxes,  as  he  had  desired.  It  was  in  the  sim- 
ple action  of  giving  out  his  linen  that  I  came  now  and  then 
across  the  name  of  Benjamin  Hurst.  I  took  little  account 
of  it  at  the  time." 

"  It  was  the  name  he  bore  once,  as  I  suppose  you  now 
know,"  said  the  Earl. 

"  Yes.  And  when  the  young  man  recovered  sufficiently 
to  permit  of  conversation,  I  called  his  attention  to  the  fact 
that  this  strange  name  was  marked  upon  some  of  his  cloth- 
ing. He  smiled,  but  gave  me  no  explanation." 

"  Poor  fellow  !  He  kept  silence,  in  regard  for  me.  /  had 
given  him  his  new  name." 

"Aye,  my  lord  ;  so  I  thought.  And  a  mere  instinct  of 
justice,  if  not  of  brotherly  love,  must  have  guided  your 
action.  But  I  did  not  know  it  then.  In  a  few  days  the 
order  came  to  me  to  sail  for  England,  in  charge  of  the  inva- 
lided troops.  Among  these  was  Captain  Douglas,  to  whom, 
24 


386  A      NOBLE     LORD. 

for  good  reasons,  I  gave  particular  attention.  It  was  dur- 
ing our  voyage  home  that  I  had  ample  leisure  to  look  over 
that  old  bundle  of  yellow,  mildewed  papers  that  I  had  dis- 
covered in  the  secret  drawer  of  my  guardian's  writing-desk 
when  the  old  worm-eaten  book-case  was  accidentally  broken 
to  pieces,  in  the  attempt  to  move  it.  I  really  felt  not  the 
slightest  interest  in  those  old  papers  beyond  the  languid  curi- 
osity of  an  idle  voyager  in  want  of  amusement.  So  I  looked 
but  carelessly  over  the  old  love-letters  of  the  bachelor  doctor's 
boyhood,  and  the  memoranda  of  old  debts  sometime  to  be 
paid,  and  old  wrongs  to  be  set  right  by  post  obit  restitution. 
At  length  I  opened  a  paper  that  took  away  my  eyesight 
and  my  breath  for  a  full  minute.  Aye,  my  lord,  it  did. 
As  I  gazed  upon  it,  a  mist  passed  before  my  vision,  and  I 
gasped.  Here,  my  lord,  is  the  paper ;  look  at  it  for  your- 
self," said  the  surgeon,  placing  in  the  Earl's  hand  a  folded 
paper,  yellow  with  age  and  speckled  with  mildew. 

The  Earl  took  it  with  calmness,  and  opened  it  with  care. 

First  there  dropped  from  the  paper  a  little  fine,  white, 
knitted  sock,  which  his  lordship  picked  up  and  examined 
with  much  interest. 

"  I  have  seen  the  fellow  to  this,"  he  said,  as  he  scrutinized 
the  wreath  of  eglantines  and  the  crest  of  Seton-Linlithgow 
embroidered  in  the  instep. 

"  You  have  seen  the  fellow  to  that,  my  lord  ?  "  echoed 
the  surgeon. 

"  Yes,  in  the  hands  of  Captain  Douglas.  It  was  a  relic 
of  his  childhood.  He  showed  it  to  me  before  he  left  Eng- 
land for  the  Crimea.  No  doubt  lie  has  it  still  in  his  posses- 
sion," replied  the  Earl,  as  he  carefully  laid  the  mute  witness 
aside,  and  proceeded  to  the  examination  of  the  faded  writing 
on  the  paper.  He  read  as  follows : 

SETOTT,  March,  18 — . 
"Memoranda  of  the  facts  relating  to  the  secret  birth  and 


PROOFS.  387 

concealment  of  the  first-born  son  of  Eglantine,  Baroness  of 
Linlithgow,  and  William  Douglas  of  Douglas  Cheviot,  late 
a  lieutenant  in  her  Majesty's •  Regiment  of  Foot,  sta- 
tioned in  Canada.  I  was  called  to  Ornoch  Castle,  in  this 
shire,  on  the  night  of  March  — ,  18 — ,  to  attend  the  Baron- 
ess of  Linlithgow  in  her  confinement. 

"  At  twelve,  midnight,  she  gave  birth  to  a  male  child,  and 
immediately  fell  into  syncope. 

"Besides  myself,  only  Lady  Shetland  and  the  nurse  were 
present.  Circumstances  that  are  known  to  all  the  parties 
interested  in  this  statement — and  none  others  need  see  it — 
rendered  it  expedient,  for  the  sake  of  the  family  honor,  to 
conceal  the  birth  of  this  child,  and  he  was  committed  to  me 
to  be  disposed  of. 

"After  I  had  recovered  my  patient  from  her  syncope,  and 
got  her,  under  the  influence  of  morphia,  into  a  refreshing 
sleep,  I  took  the  child,  and  while  the  mother  slept  in  uncon- 
sciousness, I  carried  him  to  the  little  seaport  of  Killford, 
and  to  the  house  of  the  woman  whom  I  had  already  en- 
gaged to  take  charge  of  a  new-born  child  when  it  should 
arrive,  without  telling  her  the  real  parentage  of  the  child. 

"  This  woman,  by  name  Magdalene  Hurst,  was  steward- 
ess of  the  coasting  steamer  Shaft,  but  was  at  this  time  con- 
fined of  her  first  child,  a  boy. 

"  On  reaching  the  hut  where  the  woman  Magdalene 
Hurst  lodged  with  an  old  midwife  by  the  name  of  Jean 
Craig,  I  found  that  my  patient  was  in  a  profound  sleep,  and 
that  her  child  had  died  while  she  slept. 

"  Immediately  occurred  to  me  a  means  by  which  I  might 
conceal  the  existence  of  Eglantine  Seton's  child  more  effect- 
ually than  by  simply  putting  him  out  to  nurse.  I  broached 
my  plan  to  the  old  woman  in  attendance,  and  used  such 
arguments  as  convinced  her  of  the  expediency  and  propriety 
of  substituting  the  living  infant  for  the  dead  one.  I  clench- 
ed my  arguments  by  the  gift  of  a  few  guineas.  And  I 


388  A     NOBLE     LORD. 

secured  her  secrecy  by  a  threat  of  the  consequences  to  her- 
self, as  well  as  to  others,  should  she  betray  the  trust. 

"  The  clothing  of  the  dead  and  the  living  child  was  then 
exchanged.  The  living  child  was  laid  at  the  bosom  of  the 
foster-mother,  and  the  dead  one  was  taken  to  Seton  Old 
Church,  and  buried. 

"  Magdalene  Hurst  was  led  to  believe  that  the  child  on 
her  bosom  was  her  own,  and  Eglantine  Seton  was  told  that 
the  child  who  filled  the  nameless  coffin  at  Seton  Old  Church, 
was  hers. 

"  In  a  few  weeks,  Magdalene  Hurst,  stewardess  of  the 
Shaft,  went  back  to  London,  taking  with  her  the  foster- 
child  whom  she  believed  to  be  her  own,  and  whom  she  had 
named  Benjamin,  after  his  supposed  father. 

"  Feeling  now  the  infirmities  of  old  age  creeping  upon 
me,  and  knowing  that  I  may  be  called  suddenly  hence,  and 
not  wishing  to  take  such  a  secret  away  with  me  to  the 
gi'ave,  nor  yet  deeming  it  expedient  to  divulge  it  at  this 
present  time,  I  make  these  memoranda,  for  the  information 
of  those  whom  it  may  in  future  concern,  and  for  those  only, 
knowing  that  they  will  guard,  as  I  have  guarded,  the  honor 
of  the  house  of  Seton-Linlithgow. 

"  Signed  with  my  hand,  and  sealed  with  my  seal.  ALEX- 
ANDER SETON,  of  the  village  of  Seton,  physician  and  sur- 
geon." 

After  reading  this  strange  document  to  the  end,  Lord 
Wellrose  folded  it  carefully  and  held  it  in  his  hand  and  fell 
into  deep  thought. 

Dr.  Kinlock  refrained  from  breaking  in  upon  his  reverie. 
At  length  Lord  Wellrose  inquired : 

"Does  Captain  Douglas  know  of  the  existence  of  this 
document?  " 

"  No,  my  lord,  he  does  not,"  answered  the  surgeon. 

"Have  you  mentioned,  or  hinted  to  him,  in  any  way,  the 
fact  of  the  discovery  you  have  made?  " 


PROOFS.  889 

"  No,  my  lord ;  no.  I  deemed  it  best,  for  many  reasons, 
not  to  do  so.  In  the  first  place  he  was  in  a  condition  of 
weakness,  with  tendency  to  hemorrhage  of  the  lungs,  that 
made  absolute  quietness  vitally  necessary.  Any  excitement 
must  have  been  very  dangerous,  and  would  have  been  prob- 
ably fatal  to  him.  In  the  second  place  I  thought  it  due  to 
your  family  to  make  the  communication  first  to  yourself,  my 
lord,  or  to  your  father,  the  Duke  of  Cheviot.  In  the  third 
place,  we  were  very  near  England  when  I  made  the  discov- 
ery ;  and  before  I  had  thought  over  the  subject  many  days, 
I  found  myself  in  Southampton  waters.  I  hope  your  lord- 
ship thinks  that  I  did  well." 

"  You  did  well,"  said  the  Earl,  with  much  emotion. 

"  Your  lordship  thinks  the  proof  of  your  brother's  birth 
conclusive  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  think  it  conclusive.  With  the  corroborative  tes- 
timony we  have  in  our  hands,  I  think  it  quite  indisputable. 
But,  oh,  gracious  Lord  of  Heaven,  how  bitterly  has  my 
brother  been  wronged  in  all  these  years ! "  groaned  the 
Earl,  covering  his  face  with  his  hands. 

"  Your  lordship  takes  no  thought  of  yourself  at  all  in 
this  matter,"  said  the  surgeon  in  amazement. 

"Why  should  I?  No  one  has  injured  me.  But,  Great 
Heaven  !  how  he  has  been  wronged  !  Doctor,  we  must  save 
him.  The  best  medical  skill  in  England — in  Europe — in 
the  world,  must  be  engaged  for  his  restoration  to  life  and 
health ! " 

The  surgeon  gravely  shook  his  head. 

"  My  lord,"  he  said,  "  I  tell  you  frankly  I  have  no  hopes 
of  saving  Captain  Douglas'  life.  He  was  born  with  a  con- 
stitution enfeebled  by  the  sufferings  of  his  mother  even 
before  his  birth ;  that  feeble  constitution  was  further  under- 
mined by  the  privations  and  exposures  of  his  infancy  and 
childhood ;  and  it  has  received  its  death-blow  in  that  awful 
winter  before  Sebastopol,  and  in  that  last  fatal  wound 


390  A     NOBLE      LORD. 

received  when  he  planted  his  colors  upon  the  walls  of  the 
citadel." 

"1  tell  you,  no!  He  must  and  shall  be  saved!  All  my 
fortune  shall  be  devoted  to  his  service.  The  best  medical 
skill  in  the  world  shall  be  secured  for  him." 

"  Ah !  my  lord,  there  is  a  limit  to  the  power  of  wealth, 
and  to  the  skill  of  physicians.  They  cannot  raise  the  dead  ; 
they  cannot  restore  the  dying  !  " 

"  Then  God  can  !  Prayer  shall  aid  work,  and  we  shall 
save  him  yet !  "  said  the  young  Earl,  in  holy  triumph. 


CHAPTEE  XLL 

AT    SETON    ON   THE   LOCH. 

Face  to  face  with  the  true  mountains 

Standing  silently  and  still, 
Drawing  strength  from  Fancy's  dauntingB, 

From  the  air  about  the  hill, 
And  from  Nature's  open  hauntings, 

And  most  debonaire  good  will. — E.  B.  BROWNING. 

WHEN  the  surgeon  had  left  the  room,  the  Earl  of  Well- 
rose  went  to  his  newly  discovered  brother's  chamber.  He 
found  the  invalid  sleeping  calmly.  He  stood  by  the  bed  and 
gazed  compassionately  upon  the  fair,  wan,  unconscious  face. 

"  He  must  take  my  titles  and  estates  away  from  me,  and 
yet  Heaven  only  knows  how  much  I  love  him  !  And  ah  ! 
Lord  of  Heaven  !  how  cruelly  and  bitterly  he  has  been 
wronged  !  "  the  young  Earl  murmured  as  he  gazed. 

Then  with  his  own  hands,  and  with  almost  womanly 
tenderness  and  care,  he  drew  the  coverlet  up  over  the 
delicate  chest,  closed  the  curtains  and  lowered  the  gas. 

Then  he  opened  the  communicating  door  and  passed 
silently  into  his  own  room. 

His  valet  was  there  ready  to  attend  him. 


AT     8  ETON      ON     THE      LOCH.  391 

"  I  shall  not  require  anything  more  to-night,  Perkins. 
You  can  go,"  said  his  lordship. 

The  valet  bowed  and  withdrew. 

Lord  Wellrose  threw  himself  into  an  arm-chair  beside  a 
table,  with  his  elbow  resting  upon  the  top  and  his  head 
bowed  upon  his  hand.  He  felt  no  disposition  to  retire  to 
rest.  His  mind  was  oppressed  with  thoughts  of  the  startling 
revelation  he  had  received  from  the  surgeon.  He  could  not 
for  an  instant  doubt  its  truth.  Beyond  all  question  Benja- 
min Douglas  was  his  elder  brother,  the  son  of  his  parents  by 
their  first  rash,  childish  marriage. 

But  the  heaviest  of  all  was  the  thought  how  that  elder, 
even  in  helpless  infancy,  had  been  cast  down  into  the  lowest 
depths  of  the  social  hells,  while  he,  the  younger,  had  always 
lived  in  the  heaven  of  family  love,  and  moral,  religious  and 
intellectual  culture,  enjoying  privileges  that  should  have 
been  the  blessings  of  both. 

But  now  full  justice  must  be  done  to  that  deeply  injured 
elder  brother,  at  whatever  cost  to  himself,  the  younger,  or  to 
any  one  else. 

As  he  could  not  sleep,  ho  drew  his  chair  closer  to  the  table, 
drew  writing  materials  toward  him  and  wrote  two  letters. 
The  first  and  least  important  was  a  short  one  addressed  to 
Mrs.  Bruce,  the  housekeeper  at  Seton  Court,  directing  her 
to  have  the  house  opened  and  aired,  and  rooms  got  ready  to 
receive  himself  and  his  guests,  who  expected  to  reach  Seton 
on  the  evening  of  the  fourth  day  from  the  date  of  that 
letter.  The  second,  and  most  important  one,  was  addressed 
to  his  father,  the  Duke  of  Cheviot,  at  Cheviot  Castle, 
earnestly  requesting  the  Duke  and  Duchess  to  join  their  son 
at  Seton  House,  at  the  end  of  a  week  from  date,  assigning 
as  a  reason  for  this  request,  very  important  business,  that 
would  be  better  discussed  at  Seton  than  at  Cheviot. 

He  closed  and  sealed  these  letters,  and  rang  for  a  late 
waiter,  into  whose  hands  he  placed  them,  with  the  order 
that  they  should  go  by  the  first  mail. 


39^  A      NOBLE      LORD. 

And  then,  having  done  all  that  it  was  possible  to  do  in, 
the  premises  that  night,  he  retired  to  rest. 

The  next  morning,  the  Earl  of  Wellrose,  Captain  Doug- 
las and  Doctor  Kinlock  left  Southampton  for  London  by  an 
early  train.  A  double  compartment  in  a  first-class  carriage 
had  been  engaged  and  fitted  up  comfortably,  with  addi- 
tional cushions  and  rugs.  So  the  journey  was  accomplished 
with  more  ease  to  the  invalid  officer  than  could  have  been 
hoped  from  his  weakened  condition. 

On  reaching  London  they  took  rooms  at  the  nearest 
hotel,  the  Paddington,  where  they  passed  the  remainder  of 
the  day  and  the  night. 

The  next  morning,  with  precautions  for  Captain  Douglas' 
comfort,  the  party  started  by  the  Great  North-western  train 
for  York,  en  route  for  Scotland. 

They  reached  that  old  cathedral  town  in  the  afternoon, 
rested  there  until  the  next  morning,  and  then  resumed  their 
journey.  The  afternoon  of  the  third  day  brought  them  into 
Edinburg.  And  thus,  by  short  and  easy  stages  they  in 
turn  reached  Glasgow,  Stirling,  Callender,  and  finally,  on 
the  evening  of  the  fourth  day,  they  reached  by  coach  the 
little  port  of  Killford,  where  the  steamer  Sprite  was  waiting 
Lord  Wellrose's  orders  to  take  them  up  the  loch  to  Setou 
Castle. 

Immediately  on  leaving  the  coach  the  party  went  on 
board  the  steamer. 

It  was  a  cold,  clear,  starlight  night,  and  to  Benjamin,  who 
sat  on  deck,  wrapped  in  his  old  camp  overcoat,  the  majestic 
8cener}T  of  loch  and  mountain  was  but  dimly  apparent ;  but 
the  very  obscurity  of  the  Landscape  lent  the  weird  charm  of 
awe  to  its  beauty.  They  passed  the  narrow,  winding 
"  straits  "  that  connected  the  sea  with  the  loch,  and  where 
the  turns  were  so  short  that  every  few  minutes  it  seemed 
as  if  the  bows  of  the  boat  were  going  straight  up  to  the 
land.  At  length  a  final  turn  brought  them  out  upou  the 


AT      SETON      ON      THE      LOCH.  393 

broad  expanse  of  the  loch,  encircled  by  its  lofty  mountains, 
now  looming  dimly  through  the  clear,  starlight  night. 

Benny  uttered  a  low  exclamation  of  delight. 

"  You  should  see  the  loch  by  daylight,  or  by  moonlight, 
when  indeed  it  is  exceedingly  beautiful, "  said  the  Earl. 

"  It  is  beautiful  exceedingly  now,  under  the  dim  light  of 
the  stars,"  answered  Benjamin,  in  a  low,  hushed  tone. 

And  then  the  brothers  relapsed  into  that  silence  which  is 
more  eloquent  than  words,  as  they  gazed  upon  the  darkly 
glorious  scene. 

A  few  minutes  more  brought  them  to  the  foot  of  the 
water-stairs  leading  from  the  loch  up  into  the  wooded  hills 
of  Seton  Chase. 

Lord  Wellrose  gave  his  arm  to  his  brother,  and  supported 
him  in  going  up  the  stairs,  at  the  top  of  which  they  found  a 
large  and  commodious  close  carriage  waiting  to  take  the 
travellers  to  the  house. 

Lord  Wellrose,  Captain  Douglas,  and  Doctor  Kiulock 
took  their  seats,  and  the  horses  started. 

They  drove  up  a  winding  road  through  the  thick  woods, 
to  the  top  of  the  hill,  where  they  entered  an  avenue  of  oak- 
trees  that  presently  led  them  up  to  the  front  of  the  house, 
where  the  windows  were  shining  with  hospitable  lights. 

Mrs.  Bruce,  the  aged  housekeeper,  with  the  household 
servants  at  her  back,  received  the  party  at  the  door.  She 
had  been  the  Earl's  nurse  a  quarter  of  a  century  back,  and 
this  circumstance  constituted  a  bond  of  strong  affection 
between  herself  and  her  foster-child.  She  had  been  pro- 
moted from  the  nursery  to  the  head  of  the  house  at  Seton 
Court,  and  was  passing  her  old  age  in  ease  and  comfort. 

She  now  stood  there  in  the  lighted  hall,  looking  trim  and 
neat  in  her  black  silk  dress  and  white  muslin  cap,  necker- 
chief and  apron,  smiling  and  courtesying  her  welcome. 

"  How  do  you  do,  Mrs.  Bruce  ?  "  said  the  young  Earl, 
affectionately,  shaking  her  hands  and  kissing  her  rough 
cheeks. 


39-1  A     NOBLE     LORD. 

"  I'm  weel,  arid  blithe  to  see  ye,  my  bairn — my  laird,  I 
mean  !  "  replied  the  old  nurse,  suddenly  correcting  herself. 

'•'  Your  '  bairn  '  always,  dear  nurse  !  Whatever  I  may  be 
to  others,  I  am  your  '  bairn,' "  said  the  young  Earl,  with  his 
kindly  smile.  "  And  now  here  is  my  kinsman,  Captain 
Douglas,  who  has  come  back  from  the  war  wounded  and  ill, 
and  in  need  of  tender  and  skillful  nursing.  You  must  take 
as  much  care  of  him  as  you  used  to  take  of  me  when  I  was 
ailing,"  he  added. 

"Ah!  God  bless  his  bonny  face!  he's  unco  like  the 
family,  and  might  be  your  lordship's  aiu  brither,  by  the 
looks  of  him.  But  eh,  sirs  !  he's  unco  fair  and  fragile,  to 
hae  been  a  soldier,  noo.  Aweel,  laddie,  the  guid  mountain 
air,  wi'  my  ain  nursing,  will  sune  bring  ye  round  again," 
she  said,  nodding  and  courtesying  to  the  invalid  guest,  who 
smiled  and  thanked  her. 

There  were  spacious,  comfortably  furnished  old-fashioned 
bed-rooms,  lighted  with  wax  candles  in  tall  silver  candle- 
sticks, and  heated  with  glowing  wood  fires  in  the  massive 
open  fire-places,  waiting  for  the  travellers.  Here  they 
refreshed  themselves  with  a  wash,  and  then  went  down  to 
the  smaller  dining-room,  where  a  good  supper  was  ready  for 
them. 

Soon  after  supper  they  went  to  bed. 

In  the  morning  Benny  arose  earl}r,  and  with  the  assist- 
ance of  a  footman  whom  Lord  Wellrose  had  appointed  to 
wait  on  him,  he  made  his  toilet,  and  went  to  the  morning 
parlor,  to  which  the  footman  showed  the  way. 

This  parlor  had  a  modern  French  window  opening  upon  a 
balcony,  and  overlooking  the  loch. 

As  the  morning  was  very  fine,  Benny  ventured  to  step 
out  upon  the  balcony,  where  a  magnificent  and  beautiful 
scene  burst  upon  his  view — the  loch  with  its  clear,  deep  blue 
waters  glittering  in  the  morning  sun,  and  its  girdle  of  lofty 
mountains,  with  their  base  clothed  in  deep  evergreens,  and 


AT     SETON      ON      THE      LOCH.  395 

the  sharp,  bare  peaks  gleaming  in  the  morning  light  with 
all  the  colors  of  the  rainbow.  Benny,  always  sensitive  to 
beauty,  fairly  caught  his  breath  as  he  gazed. 

A  light  hand  was  laid  upon  his  shoulder. 

He  turned,  and  saw  the  Earl  standing  by  his  side, 

"  What  do  you  think  of  the  view  ?  "  inquired  his  lordship, 
with  a  smile. 

"  What  do  I  think?"  echoed  Benny,  in  a  calm  ecstacy. 
"There  is  Paradise  still  on  earth.  Eden  could  not  have 
been  fairer  than  this.  Only  to  breathe  and  see  here,  seenia 
joy  enough.  It  is  a  heavenly  place  to  live  in — or  to  die  in," 
he  added,  in  a  lower  tone. 

"  To  live  in,  yes.  But,  as  I  observed  once  before,  we  will 
have  no  dying.  I  most  decidedly  object  to  that  sort  of^ 
thing,  except  in  centenarians.  They  have  a  right  to  die,  if 
they  insist  upon  doing  so.  But  as  for  a  young  man  like 
yourself,  he  has  no  right  to  think  of  such  a  proceeding;  and 
therefore — " 

As  the  Earl  said  these  last  words  he  stepped  back  into  the 
parlor,  and  presently  returned  with  a  tartan  shawl,  which 
he  carefully  placed  around  his  brother's  shoulders,  saying, 
with  a  smile : 

"  If  you  do  not  take  better  care  of  yourself,  Douglas,  I 
shall  have  to  be  your  valet.  What  would  Kinlock  say  if  he 
saw  you  out  here  without  a  wrap  ?  " 

"  He  would  say,"  exclaimed  the  surgeon,  who  at  that 
moment  joined  them,  "that  standing  shivering  on  a  bleak 
balcony,  while  gazing  at  a  magnificent  scene,  is  taking  the 
poetry  without  the  comforts  of  life,  the  elegancies  without 
the  necessaries ;  or,  to  bring  it  right  home  to  your  hearts 
and  stomachs,  it's  like  having  the  dessert  without  the  din- 
ner !  There,  the  tea  and  muffins  are  cooling  on  the  break- 
fast table,  to  say  nothing  of  the  haddock  and  eggs." 

Lord  Wellrose  laughed,  and  they  all  went  in  to  breakfast. 

And  after  breakfast  Benny  was  obliged  to  lie  down  on  the 


396  A      NOBLE      LORD. 

sofa  of  his  room.  Whether  it  was  from  the  reaction  of  his 
excitement  on  reaching  his  native  shores,  or  whether  it  was 
the  fatigue  of  his  long  journey,  or  from  the  progress  of  an 
incurable  malady,  or  from  all  these  causes  combined,  Benny 
was  again  prostrated  with  weakness,  so  he  was  compelled  to 
keep  his  sofa. 

"  How  is  this,  Kinlock  ?  Why  does  he  not  get  stronger  ?  " 
inquired  the  Earl  of  the  surgeon,  as  soon  as  they  found 
themselves  alone  together. 

"  I  told  your  lordship  the  truth  from  the  beginning.  I 
never  deceived  your  lordship,"  said  the  surgeon,  gravely. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  that  he  will  never  be  better  ?  " 

"  He  will  be  better  and  then  worse,  as  is  the  way  with 
people  suffering  as  he  does;  but,  my  lord,  he  will  never 
recover,"  gravely  replied  the  doctor. 

"  You  medical  gentlemen  may  sometimes  be  mistaken, 
may  you  not  ?  " 

"  Certainly." 

"  Then  I  will  cling  to  the  hope  that  yon  are  mistaken 
in  this  instance,"  said  the  Earl,  as  he  arose  and  went  to  his 
brother's  apartment. 


CHAPTER  XLII. 

NEWS    OF    SUZY. 

I  loved  ....  forty  thousand  "  lovers  " 
Could  not,  with  all  their  quantity  of  love, 
Make  up  my  sum. — SHAKLSPF.ARE. 

HE  found  Benjamin  reclining  on  the  sofa. 

"  How  do  you  feel  now?  "  he  inquired,  taking  a  seat  by 
his  side. 

"  Tired — a  little  tired,  but  very  comfortable  and  happy," 
replied  Benjamin,  holding  out  his  hand  to  his  brother. 


NEWS      OF      S  U  Z  Y.  397 

"It  is  but  tlie  effect  of  your  long  journey,"  said  Lord 
Wellrose,  taking  the  thin  white  hand  and  holding  it  in  his 
own. 

"My  lord,"  began  Benny,  after  a  short  silence,  "ever 
since  I  reached  home,  I  have  been  longing  to  ask  you  more 
particularly  about  —  " 

He  hesitated  in  some  embarrassment,  and  his  pale  face 
flushed. 

"About  Suzy?"  suggested  the  Earl. 

"  Yes,  my  lord  ;  about  Suzy." 

"  And  I,  also,  have  been  wishing  to  speak  to  you  of  her  ; 
but  as  you  did  not  mention  —  " 

And  here  Lord  Wellrose  paused,  in  a  little  less  embar- 
rassment than  Benny  had  betrayed. 

The  fact  is,  there  had  been,  and  still  was,  a  singular  reti- 
cence in  both  these  brothers  on  the  subject  of  Suzy.  And 
the  reason  was  obvious  :  both  loved  each  other  with  a  broth- 
erly love,  and  both  loved,  or  had  loved,  Suzy,  with  a  love 
that  was  certainly  not  brotherly. 

"  You  hear  from  her  often  ?  "  said  Benny,  half-question- 


"  I  hear  from  her,  and  write  to  her  by  every  mail.  We 
exchange  letters  about  once  a  fortnight." 

"  She  is  well,  I  hope  ?  " 

"  She  is  well  ;  but  our  correspondence  is  by  no  means 
what  you  would  suppose  it  to  be." 

"Indeed!" 

"  Indeed  no.  She  writes  to  me  as  though  I  might  be  her 
respected  pastor  instead  of  her  betrothed.  You  shall  see  a 
recent  letter  she  wrote  me.  It  is  a  sample  one.  And  it 
will  be  no  breach  of  confidence,  since  there  is  not  a  word  in 
it  that  might  not  be  proclaimed  from  the  church-steeple," 
said  the  Earl,  as  he  arose  and  left  the  room. 

He  returned  in  a  few  moments  with  Suzy's  letter.  He 
put  it  open  into  Benny's  hand. 


398  A     NOBLE     LORD. 

And  oh,  he  saw  and  marked  that  frail  hand  tremble  as  it 
touched  the  paper ! 

Benny  began  to  read  the  letter — a  cool,  friendly,  formal 
letter,  such  as  any  girl  might  have  written  to  a  male  relative, 
with  whom  duty  compelled  her  to  correspond,  but  such  as 
certainly  no  girl  ever  before  wrote  to  her  betrothed  lover. 

Benny  finished  reading  the  letter,  raised  his  eyes  to  the 
face  of  the  Earl,  and  stared  with  surprise  and  perplexity. 

Lord  Wellrose  smiled. 

"  Why,  what  on  earth  does  she  mean  ?  What  in  the  world 
is  the  matter  ?  "  inquired  Benny. 

"  Nothing  is  the  matter.  The  child  has  found  out  her 
mistake  in  having  fancied  that  she  ever  loved  me  with  a  real 
and  lasting  love,"  said  the  Earl,  calmly. 

"  How  long  has  she  written  to  you  in  this  style  ?  " 

"Always  —  that  is,  ever  since  she  began  to  answer  my 
letters  at  all." 

"  Then  it  must  have  been,  and  must  still  be,  mere  timidity 
that  caused  her  to  write  so  coldly.  Suzy  was  timid  iu  some 
respect." 

"It  was  not  timidity  in  this  case.  I  will  prove  it  to  you. 
The  letter  that  you  have  just  read  is  the  last  but  one  I  re- 
ceived from  her.  This  one  that  I  am  now  about  to  show  you 
is  the  very  last.  In  it  you  will  see  that  she  deliberately  re- 
quests me  to  free  her  from  her  engagement  to  me,  assigning 
as  reasons  the  unsuitableness  of  the  proposed  marriage,  the 
opposition  of  my  family,  her  own  personal  unfituess  for  the 
rank  I  offered  her,  and  more  than  all,  the  change  in  her  own 
feelings,  which  has  taught  her  that  she -never  truly  loved  me 
as  she  once  thought  she  did.  Moreover,  she  gives  me  no 
chance  to  refuse  her  request,  for  she  tells  me,  in  conclusion, 
that  she  is  coming  home  to  England,  and  shall  be  on  the 
seas  before  another  letter  from  me  can  reach  her." 

While  the  Earl  spoke,  Benny's  memory  was  busy  with  the 
past. 


NEWS      OF      FUZY.  399 

He  remembered  that  just  before  they  parted,  Suzy  to  go 
to  Australia,  and  himself  to  go  to  the  Crimea,  she  had  con- 
fessed to  him  apian  she  had  formed  of  absenting  herself  from 
England  until  the  Earl  should  be  cured  of  his  indiscreet 
attachment.  He  remembered  that  he  himself  had  begged 
Suzy  to  impart  her  plan  to  her  lover,  and  get  his  consent 
that  this  test  should  be  put  to  the  strength  of  his  love.  And 
she  had  said  that  she  would  think  of  his  advice.  He  won- 
dered now  whether  she  had  told  her  purpose.  And  now  he 
asked  the  question : 

"  Did  your  lordship  suspect  that  she  would  change  in  this 
way  ?  " 

"  Never  !  It  has  taken  nearly  two  years  for  the  truth  to 
gradually  reach  me." 

Benjamin  looked  anxiously  at  his  brother. 

How  calmly  the  Earl  took  his  disappointment !  But  per- 
haps he  was  only  exercising  self-control.  Benny  ventured 
another  question  : 

"  And  you,  Lord  Wellrose  !  You  !  How  is  it  with  you  ? 
What  shall  you  do  ?  " 

"  It  is  well  with  me,  'Benjamin.  Just  so  soon  as  Snzy 
shall  arrive  in  England,  I  shall  take  great  pleasure  in  see- 
ing the  child,  and  freeing  her  from  her  foolish  engage- 
ment." 

Benjamin  stared  at  the  Earl  in  speechless  astonishment. 

"  Don't  look  so  shocked,  my  dear  fellow.  Our  harmless 
passion  was  a  brief  hallucination,  and  nothing  more.  I 
was  fascinated  and  dazzled  by  the  beautiful  singer,  and 
she — "  the  Earl  paused. 

"  Was  fascinated  and  dazzled  by  the  splendid  young 
nobleman,  the  lion  of  Parliament,  and  the  idol  of  society," 
said  Benjamin,  finishing  the  sentence  in  his  own  way, 
with  fond  enthusiasm. 

"  There ! "  said  the  Earl,  patting  Benny's  hand,  and 
laughing  quietly.  "How  much  I  wish  that  all  the  world 


400  A      NOBLE      LORD. 

had  as  great  faith  in  me  as  you  have.  But  to  come  back  to 
Suzy.  It  is  all  over  between  us.  I  shall  always  love  the 
child  as  a  dear,  good  little  sister.  But  for  the  rest,  I  only 
wait  to  compty  with  her  request,  and  free  her  from  her  en- 
gagement, before  offering  my  hand  to  Lady  Hinda  Moray  ; 
who  has  long  had  my  heart." 

As  the  Earl  ceased  speaking  he  looked  at  Benjamin,  and 
was  startled  to  see  the  change  that  had  come  over  his  wan 
face  and  wasted  form.  His  face  was  marble  white  and  half 
concealed  under  his  trembling  hands,  and  his  form  was 
shaking  as  with  a  chill. 

"Douglas!  Douglas!"  said  the  Earl,  bending  anxiously 
over  him. 

"  Oh  !  if  I  could  only  live  now !  Oh !  I  wish  I  could 
live  now  !"  murmured  Benny,  in  a  very  low  tone. 

"  Live  !  my  dear  boy,  you  must  and  shall  live.  You  have 
so  much  to  live  for  now;  so  much  more  than  you  know. 
Never  give  up !  Despair  kills  more  than  disease  does. 
Ah,  that  cruel  cough!"  murmured  the  Earl,  suddenly 
breaking  off  from  his  discourse,  as  a  violent  paroxysm  seized 
and  shook  the  invalid,  as  if  it  would  have  shaken  his  fragile 
frame  to  dissolution. 

"Yes,  I  have  her  to  live  for  now,"  said  Benny,  as  soon  as 
the  paroxysm  had  passed  off.  "  Yes,  Lord  Wellrose,  I  will 
tell  you  all  now.  I  loved  her,  my  lord.  Oh,  Heaven,  how 
I  loved  her !  With  no  '  brief  passion,'  with  no  transient 
hallucination  ;  but  with  a  deep,  true,  vital  love,  that  'grew 
•with  my  growth,  and  strengthened  with  my  strength,'  from 
infancy  to  childhood,  to  youth,  to  manhood;  through  good 
and  through  evil;  in  presence  and  in  absence;  in  hope  and 
in  despair ! " 

"  Ah  !  I  suspected  this ! "  murmured  the  Earl,  in  an 
almost  inaudible  voice. 

"  It  is  little  to  say  that  I  would  have  died  for  her.  Any 
man  might  have  done  that  for  his  beloved.  But  I  would 


NEWS     OF     SUZY. 

have  died  an  ignominious  death  on  the  scaffold  and  left  my 
poor  memory  to  infamy,  only  to  have  saved  her  brother 
from  a  felon's  grave,  and  her  fair  name  from  the  shadow  of 
reproach.  That  was  how  I  loved  Suzy,  Lord  Wellrose," 
said  Beuuy,  with  an  unusual  outburst  of  emotion. 

The  Earl  was  deeply  moved. 

"  You  loved  her  so,  and  yet  you  would  have  promoted  her 
marriage  with  me  !  "  he  said. 

"  Yes,  my  lord,  because  I  thought  she  loved  you,  even  as 
I  loved  her.  And  her  happiness — yes,  and  yours  too — was 
dearer  to  me  than  my  own,"  said  Benny,  earnestly. 

"  But  now  you  know  she  never  loved  me  so — never  really 
loved  me  at  all.  She  only  fancied  so  :  drawn  first  to  like 
me  by  my  strong  resemblance  to  you,  her  life  love.  The 
tremendous  sacrifice  of  your  life  and  good  name  that  you 
were  about  to  make  for  her  sake,  naturally  awoke  her  heart 
to  the  knowledge  of  your  great  love  and  her  own.  And  she 
did  well  and  wisely  in  going  away  to  her  parents  at  the 
antipodes,  and  there  to  wait  for  time  and  Providence  to  set 
us  all  right.  Be  comforted,  my  dear  Douglas,  for  she 
returns  your  love." 

As  the  Earl  spoke  there  was  a  knock  at  the  door,  pres- 
ently followed  by  the  entrance  of  a  footman,  who  said 
respectfully : 

"  My  lord,  their  Graces,  the  Duke  and  Duchess  of  Che- 
viot have  arrived,  and  wish  to  see  your  lordship." 

"  So  soon !  I  did  not  expect  them  quite  yet,"  said  the 
Earl  to  himself.  "  Tell  their  Graces  I  will  attend  them 
immediately,"  he  added,  to  the  servant,  who  went  away 
with  the  message. 

"  Dear  Douglas,  you  hear  that  my  father  and  mother 
have  come.  I  must  leave  you  for  a  little  while,  but  I  will 
soon  return,"  said  the  Earl,  as  he  left  the  room. 

"What  a  comfort  it  must  be  to  have  a  father  and  mother 
25 


402  A      NOBLE      LORD. 

living,"  murmured  Benny  to  himself  as  his  brother  closed 
the  door. 

Then  the  racking  cough  seized  and  tore  him  with  violence. 


CHAPTER  XLIII. 

NEWS  FOR  THE  DUKE  AND  DUCHESS. 

Alas  !  the  mother  that  him  bore 

Had  not  known  her  son. — SIR  WALTER  SCOTT. 

MEANWHILE  Lord  Wellrose  went  down  to  the  drawing- 
room  to  welcome  his  parents.  But  he  had  to  wait  a  few 
moments  for  the  Duke  and  Duchess,  who  had  gone  to  their 
dressing-rooms  to  change  their  travelling  suits. 

At  length  they  both  entered  together.  And  after  an 
affectionate  greeting,  they  sat  down,  and  the  Duchess  said: 

"  Your  letter  surprised  us  very  much,  Wellrose." 

"  We  set  off  at  once,  to  know  what  was  the  matter," 
added  the  Duke. 

"  Heavens,  Wellrose  !  how  your  face  changes  !  What 
can  have  happened  ?  " 

"  Out  with  your  bad  news  at  once  !  It  will  not  improve 
by  keeping,"  said  the  Duke,  uneasily, 

"  There  is  no  bad  news,  father,  though  there  is  something 
te  tell  that  will  startle  you  very  much." 

"  Tell  it  then." 

"  First  let  me  offer  my  mother  a  glass  of  wine  and  a 
biscuit,"  said  the  Earl.  And  he  rang  and  gave  the  order. 

After  the  refreshments  had  been  brought  and  tasted,  the 
Duchess  said : 

"  For  mercy's  sake,  my  son,  do  not  keep  us  longer  in  sus- 
pense." 

"  No,  do  not,"  added  the  Duke. 


NEWS      FOR    THE     Dt'KE      AND     DUCHESS.        403 

"Then  read  tin's  document,  my  father;  and  see  if  you 
recognize  this  little  relic,  my  mother,"  said  the  Earl,  as  he 
drew  a  small  parcel  from  his  bosom,  and  placed  Doctor 
Seton's  confession  in  the  Duke's  hand,  and  the  little  embroi- 
dered sock  on  the  Duchess'  lap. 

The  Duke  unfolded  the  paper,  and  began  to  read. 

The  Duchess  picked  up  the  little  sock,  looked  at  it,  and 
with  a  half-suppressed  cry,  turned  her  eyes  on  Wellrose. 
Her  color  came  and  went ;  she  trembled  much  ;  she  could 
scarcely  articulate  the  question  : 

"Where  did  you  find  it?" 

"Folded  in  the  document  that  my  father  is  reading," 
replied  the  Earl,  in  a  low  tone. 

She  rose  pale  and  trembling,  and  stood  behind  the  Duke's 
sofa,  and  leaned  over  his  shoulder  to  look  at  the  document. 
His  face  was  as  pale  as  hers.  His  eyes  seemed  starting 
from  their  sockets,  as  they  followed  the  lines  of  that  written 
confession.  But,  conscious  of  his  wife's  approach,  without 
taking  his  eyes  from  the  paper,  he  put  out  his  hand  and 
drew  her  to  a  seat  at  his  side,  wound  his  arm  protectingly 
around  her,  and  let  her  read  as  he  did. 

Their  faces  paled  and  paled  as  they  read.  Sometimes 
her  head  dropped  upon  his  shoulder,  and  a  great  heaving 
sob  convulsed  her  bosom.  And  then  his  arm  closed  tighter 
around  her ;  but  his  eyes  never  left  following  the  lines  of 
that  paper  until  he  had  read  it  to  its  close.  Then  he  turned 
toward  his  wife,  and  their  eyes  met,  in  grief  and  horror. 

The  Duchess  found  her  voice  first: 

"  Oh,  my  son  !  my  son  !  my  first-born  !  my  best  beloved  ! 
Oh,  my  innocent !  my  helpless !  what  has  become  of  you  ? 
What  has  been  your  fate  ?  "  she  cried,  wringing  her  hands 
in  an  anguish  too  deep  for  tears. 

The  Earl  of  Wellrose,  who  had  been  standing  pale  and 
silent  before  them,  now  dropped  on  one  knee  beside  her, 
Baying : 


404  A     NOBLE     LORD. 

"  Dear  mother,  be  comforted.  Your  son,  my  brother, 
lives." 

"  Lives  ! "  echoed  the  parents,  in  a  breath. 

"  Yes,  lives!     Be  assured  of  it ;  for  I  know  it." 

"  Lives  !  "  said  the  Duke  again.  "  Aye,  but  his  life  may 
be  worse  than  death." 

"  Not  so,"  said  the  Earl  hastily.  "  He  has  won  honor  in 
the  service  of  his  country.  He  was  foremost  in  the  glorious 
charge  at  Inkermann.  His  hand  placed  his  regimental 
colors  on  the  walls  of  Sebastopol.  And  though  he  has 
returned  wounded  and  ill,  be  will  yet  do  well." 

They  listened  to  him  with  breathless  interest.  Suddenly 
the  Duchess  caught  his  arm,  strained  her  eyes  into  his  and 
murmured  hoarsely : 

"  He  is — he  is — he  is — " 

"  Yes,  dear  mother,  he  is  the  Captain  Douglas,  of  whom 
you  heard  me  speak  so  often,  and  whom  I  went  to  South- 
ampton to  meet;  though  at  that  time  I  neither  knew  nor 
suspected  his  near  relationship  to  us." 

"  Thank  Heaven,  the  boy  will  do  us  no  discredit,"  ex- 
claimed the  Duke,  in  happy  ignorance  of  his  poor  son's 
miserable  childhood  and  youth. 

"Amen!  Aye,  thank  God!"  murmured  the  Duchess. 
Then  turning  to  the  Earl,  she  hastily  inquired: 

"  Put  where  is  he?  tell  me  !  Let  me  go  to  him  at  once  ! 
Ah !  I  have  been  away  from  him  long  enough — his  whole 
lifetime  !  Let  me  see  him  at  once !  Sick  and  wounded, 
too  !  Let  me  go  to  him  at  once  ! " 

And  the  Duchess  arose  and  drew  her  shawl  around  her. 

"  Dear  mother,  be  patient.  He  is  not  far  off.  You  shall 
see  him  very  soon.  He  is  in  the  neighborhood,"  said  the 
Earl,  diplomatically. 

"  Why  did  you  not  bring  him  to  this  house  ?  "  inquired 
the  Duchess.  But  before  the  Earl  could  answer  the  ques- 
tion, the  Duke  put  another  one : 


NEWS      FOR    THE     DUKE      AND     DUCHESS.        405 

"How  did  you  make  this  discovery,  Wellrose  ?" 

The  Earl  addressing  both  h'is  parents,  related  the  history 
of  Dr.  Christopher  Kinlock's  accidental  discovery  of  the 
documents  hidden  away  in  the  secret  drawer  of  Dr.  Seton's 
secretary. 

"  So  Kinlock  knows  all  about  it?  "  said  the  Duke. 

"  Yes ;  but  he  is  discretion  itself,"  replied  Lord  Wellrose. 

"  Does — your  brother  also  know  the  secret  of  his  birth  ?  " 

"  No,  my  father.  Dr.  Kinlock  and  myself  thought  it  due 
to  you  and  my  mother,  that  you  should  be  told  of  it  first. 
So  I  wrote,  requesting  you  to  meet  me  here." 

"  You  were  right.  But  I  might  repeat  your  mother's 
question,  and  inquire  why  you  did  not  bring  your  brother 
here." 

"  My  father,  he  is  here.  I  left  his  sofa  side  when  I  came 
down  here  to  see  you,"  replied  the  Earl. 

The  duchess  arose,  with  a  slight  cry. 

"  Take  me  to  him  at  once,"  she  said. 

"  Dear  mother,  be  patient  for  a  few  moments,  for  his  sake. 
He  knows  nothing  of  this  secret  yet.  And  in  his  weakened 
condition  it  will  be  necessary  to  break  it  to  him  gradually. 
!MV  father,  if  you  will  trust  that  duty  to  me,  I  think  I  shall 
perform  it  more  judiciously  than  another  could,"  said  the 
Earl. 

"  You  counsel  wisely,  Wellrose.  It  shall  be  as  you  say. 
But  when  will  you  do  this  ?  " 

"  My  dear  father,  when  he  wakes,  refreshed  from  his  noon- 
tide nap,  he  will  be  in  the  best  condition  to  bear  the  excite- 
ment of  such  a  revelation." 

"And  how  soon  will  that  be?"  inquired  the  Duchess, 
anxiously. 

"  In  about  two  hours,  mother,  dear,"  replied  the  Earl. 

Then,  after  a  little  while,  the  question  of  the  confused  in- 
heritance naturally  arose. 

"  Heaven  knows  how  glad  I  am  of  the  restoration  of  our 


406  A      N'OBLE      LORD. 

eldest  son.     But  without  doubt  it  will  complicate  the  ques- 
tion of  property  very  much,"  said  the  Duke,  uneasily. 

"  Oh,  do  not  think  of  property  at  such  a  time,"  pleaded 
the  Duchess. 

"  And  I  am  sorry  for  you,  Wellrose.  This  may  deprive 
you  of  your  heirship,"  continued  the  Duke. 

"  Do  not  think  of  me,  dear  father.  My  brother  must  have 
justice,  and  he  can  have  it.  I  see  clearly  enough  how  all 
this  may  be  arranged,"  said  the  young  Earl,  earnestly. 

"  You  were  always  unselfish,  "Wellrose.  But  let  us  ex- 
amine this  question  in  a  legal  point  of  view  for  a  moment. 
You  may  not  be  so  great  a  loser  as  at  first  sight  it  would 
appear,"  said  the  Duke  reflectively. 

Eglantine  and  her  son  both  looked«up  inquiringly. 

"Our  first  youthful  marriage,  secretly  solemnized  in 
England,  and  afterward  openly  acknowledged  in  Scotland, 
was  certainly  legal  in  the  last-mentioned  country,  though 
not  in  the  first.  The  sou  of  that  first  marriage  would  cer- 
tainly be  the  lawful  heir  of  all  his  father's  and  his  mother's 
estates  in  Scotland." 

"  Most  assuredly,"  put  in  Lord  Wellrose. 

"But  not  in  England,"  continued  the  Duke.  "And 
although  he  is  even  now  Master  of  Seton,  and  will  be,  after 
bis  mother,  Baron  of  Linlithgow,  he  cannot  possibly  become, 
after  me,  the  Duke  of  Cheviot.  This  title,  with  all  its  ap- 
pendences,  in  England,  will  be  the  inheritance  of  yourself, 
Wellrose,  as  the  sole  son  of  the  second  marriage,  which  was 
legal  everywhere,"  said  the  Duke. 

"  And  yet,  father,  in  strict  justice,  if  not  in  law,  my  elder 
brother  should  have  been  heir  to  all." 

"  In  strict  justice,  yes,"  admitted  the  Duke. 

"Then,  I  repeat,  my  brother  shall  have  strict  justice.  It 
can  be  managed.  A  petition  to  the  House  of  Lords  would 
surely  get  a  decree  constituting  that  first  marriage  legal  iu 
England,  as  it  is  in  Scotland,  aud  making  my  elder  brother 


NEWS      FOR    THE     DUKE      AND      DUCHESS.         407 

the  heir  to  all  your  titles  and  estates  in  both  countries.  Such 
decrees,  under  such  justifiable  circumstances,  have  been 
granted  heretofore,  and  will  be  hereafter,"  urged  the  Earl. 

"  I  ara,  of  course,  aware  of  that,  Wellrose.  But  you,  my 
son — you  who  have  been  brought  up  to  consider  yourself  the 
heir  ?  "  said  the  Duke,  with  tears  in  his  eyes. 

"  I  repeat,  that  I  must  not  be  thought  of  in  this  matter. 
I  have  held  my  brother's  birthright  long  enough.  I  must 
hold  it  no  longer.  Besides,  I  can  make  my  own  place  in  the 
world,  dear  father." 

"  Heaven  bless  you,  my  boy ;  you  have  a  noble  heart," 
said  the  Duke. 

"  Kinlock  is  here,  father.     Would  you  like  to  see  him  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  should.  I  should  like  to  hear  from  his  own  lips 
further  details  of  this  discovery." 

"  Then  I  will  send  him  here  to  talk  with  you,  while  I  go 
up  to  my  brother's  room  and  break  this  news  to  him." 

And  the  Earl  kissed  his  mother's  hand  and  left  the  room. 

He  found  Dr.  Kiulock  pacing  up  and  down  the  hall. 

''  Have  you  seen  my  brother  lately  ? "  inquired  Lord 
Wellrose. 

"  I  have  just  left  him,"  answered  the  doctor. 

"He  is  awake,  then?" 

"  Oh,  yes,  awake,  and  much  refreshed." 

"  Then  I  will  go  to  him.  Tho  hour  for  the  revelation  has 
come.  Go  you,  dear  doctor,  to  my  parents.  They  are  in 
the  blue  drawing-room  waiting  for  you,"  said  the  Earl,  as 
he  bowed  and  passed  up  the  stairs. 

He  found  Benjamin  still  reclining  ou  his  sofa,  but  looking 
brighter  and  stronger  from  his  sleep. 

The  Earl  sat  down  beside  the  invalid,  took  his  hand  in 
his  own,  and  while  he  held  it,  said : 

"  My  father  and  mother  are  here  for  a  few  days.  They 
wish  to  see  you,  Benjamin,  as  soon  as  you  are  strong  enough 
to  .see  thorn." 


408  A     NOBLE     LORD. 

"  It  is  very  kind  of  their  Graces.  I  thank  them  very 
much.  I  hope  they  are  well  ?  "  replied  Benny. 

"  They  are  very  well.  They  both  take  a  great  interest  in 
you,  Douglas.  They  feel  sure  that  you  must  be  a  near  rela- 
tive of  the  family." 

Benny  lifted  his  eyes  inquiringly  to  the  face  of  the  Earl. 
He  seemed  to  think  that  there  was  something  to  be  told. 

"Arid  I,  Douglas,  have  told  you  often,  that  I  feel  con- 
vinced you  are  very  nearly  related  to  us." 

"  Indeed  I  hope  it  may  be  so.  I  would  like  to  be  your 
cousin,  Lord  Wellrose." 

"  You  may  be  even  nearer  kin  to  me  than  that.  Very 
singular,  your  exact  resemblance  to  myself,  and  your  earliest 
garments  marked  with  the  crest  of  my  mother's  family." 

"  It  was,"  admitted  Benny,  still  looking  inquiringly  into 
the  face  of  his  brother. 

"Would  it  surprise  you  much  to  find  out  for  a  certainty 
that  you  are  very  related  nearly  to  us  indeed  ?  "  inquired 
the  Earl,  looking  wistfully  into  the  clear  eyes  that  were  up- 
turned to  his. 

Benny's  color  came  and  went;  he  breathed  fast,  but  fal- 
tered forth  the  words : 

"  No ;  I  do  not  think  it  would." 

"  Then,  my  dear  Douglas,  read  this  paper,"  said  the  Earl 
placing  in  his  hand  the  written  confession  of  Dr.  Seton,  and 
watching  him  closely. 

As  Benny  read,  his  wan  face  paled  and  flushed  alternate- 
ly. And  when  he  finished,  he  let  the  paper  slip  from  his 
hold,  and  he  lifted  his  hands  and  laid  them  over  his  face. 

"  Douglas !  Douglas  !  my  brother !  "  murmured  the  Earl, 
anxiously  bending  over  him. 

"  My  brother !  "  echoed  Benny,  in  a  tone  of  infinite  ten- 
derness, as  he  uncovered  his  face  and  took  the  hand  of  the 
Earl,  and  pressed  it  to  his  heart. 

"This  has  startled  you  very  much,  Benjamin,"  said  the 
Earl. 


NEWS      FOR     THE     DUKE      AND      DUCHESS.       409 

"Yes,  yes;  and  yet  it  should  not  have  done  so.  My 
heart  told  me  the  truth  long  ago,  long  ago ! — that  night 
when,  at  Brunswick  Terrace,  in  Brighton,  I  kneeled  at  her 
feet  to  offer  her  the  crown  of  Christmas  roses,  and  burst 
into  tears,  I  knew  not  why;  and  that  day  in  the  Middlesex 
Hospital,  when  her  tears  fell  upon  my  sleeping  face,  and  I 
tried  to  wake  in  vain,  my  heart  told  me  the  truth.  But  I 
did  not  understand  its  language,"  said  Benny,  in  strong 
emotion. 

"  But  now  you  do.  And  now  you  know  you  have  a 
father,  and  above  all,  a  mother,  and  a  brother,  and  many 
fair  sisters.  Your  mother,  our  mother,  longs  to  see  you, 
Benjamin,  just  as  soon  as  you  are  strong  enough  to  receive 
her." 

"  Oh !  now !  now !  let  me  look  upon  her  lovely  and 
gracious  face  again  !  It  has  never  left  my  memory  since 
that  bright  day  at  Brunswick  Terrace,"  he  said,  as  again 
his  color  came  and  went  in  quick  successions  of  flush  and 
pallor. 

The  Earl  pressed  the  invalid's  hand,  and  arose  to  leave 
the  room  ;  but,  at  a  strange  gurgling  sound  from  the  direc- 
tion of  the  sofa,  he  turned. 

Then  he  uttered  an  exclamation  of  horror  unspeakable. 

Benny  had  fallen  back,  white  as  death,  and  his  bosom  and 
pillow  were  crimsoned  with  his  life  blood. 


410  A     NOBLE     LORD. 

CHAPTER  XLIV. 

"  PASSING   THE  LOVE    OF   WOMAN." 

"  Kind  friends  may  be  to  thee, 
But  love  like  HIS  thou'lt  Bee 
Never  again." 

LORD  WELLKOSE  had  great  presence  of  mind.  He  laid 
the  fainting  form  flat  upon  the  sofa,  and  then  went  and  rang 
the  bell. 

To  the  footman  who  answered  it,  he  said : 

"  Go,  and  request  Dr.  Kinlock  to  come  here  immediately, 
and  quietly." 

The  man  went  away  to  do  his  errand,  and  the  surgeon 
quickly  made  his  appearance. 

The  Earl  pointed  in  silence  to  the  form  lying  on  the  sofa. 

"  I  thought  so,"  said  the  doctor,  going  up  to  his  patient 
and  feeling  his  pulse.  "  But  you  need  not  be  alarmed,  my 
lord.  This  is  not  much  of  a  hemorrhage.  A  very  little 
blood  makes  a  great  show.  And  see,  it  has  quite  ceased  to 
flow,"  he  added,  as  he  went  to  the  washstand  and  wetted  a 
towel  to  wipe  the  face  of  his  patient. 

Then  he  administered  restoratives.  And  finally,  as  Ben- 
ny breathed  again,  he  settled  him  more  comfortably  on  the 
sofa,  and  enjoined  the  strictest  quiet. 

He  even  recommended  Lord  Wellrose  to  withdraw  from 
the  room  and  leave  him  alone  to  attend  to  his  patient ;  add- 
ing, that  if  he  should  need  assistance  in  the  duty,  he  would 
ring  for  Mrs.  Bruce. 

As  Lord  Wellrose  went  out,  he  beckoned  Dr.  Kinlock  to 
follow  him  into  the  hall,  and  there  inquired  : 

"  What  shall  I  say  to  my  mother  ?  She  expects  to  see 
him  this  afternoon." 

"  Tell  her  Grace  that  he  has  had  as  much  excitement  as 
he  can  bear  for  one  day.  He  must  rest  quietly  until  to- 
morrow morning,  when,  if  he  should  be  bettor,  it  will  be 
safe  for  her  to  see  him." 


"  PASSING     THE      LOVE     OF     WOMAN."  411 

Lord  Wellrose  went  below  stairs  with  this  intelligence. 

He  found  his  mother  alone  in  the  drawing-room. 

He  said  nothing  of  the  hemorrhage,  but  spoke  only  of  the 
patient's  weakness  and  fatigue,  and  of  the  doctor's  orders. 

"And  you  told  him  all?"  inquired  Eglantine. 

"  I  told  him  all,"  replied  her  sou. 

"  And  how  did  he  take  it  ?     How  did  he  take  it  ?  " 

"  With  very  great  emotion,  and  yet  with  less  than  I  ex- 
pected. He  said  that  his  heart  had  told  him  the  truth  long 
ago,  and  he  should  have  known  it,  had  he  understood  the 
language  of  his  heart." 

"  But  what,  then,  did  the  poor  boy  mean  ?  His  heart 
had  told  him  the  truth  ?  How  could  his  heart  tell  him  any- 
thing, since  he  never  saw  his  mother's  face?" 

"  Dear  mother,  he  has  seen  you  often.  You  have  touched 
him  and  spoken  to  him  more  than  once." 

"  Heaven  of  heavens  !  When  and  where  ?  "  she  asked, 
in  profound  agitation. 

Then  Lord  Wellrose  told  much  of  the  story  of  his  hap- 
less brother's  life,  suppressing  only  such  parts  of  it  as  would 
have  overwhelmed  his  hearer  with  shame,  as  well  as  with 
pain. 

Then  the  Duchess  learned,  for  the  first  time,  that  the  pale 
infant  in  the  beggar's  arms,  whom  she  had  pitied  and  suc- 
cored at  the  church  door,  on  the  morning  of  her  second 
bridal ;  the  starving  street  boy,  whom  her  kind-hearted 
children  had  called  in  from  the  sidewalk  on  that  winter 
night,  at  Brunswick  Terrace,  and  had  treated  with  a  portion 
of  their  Twelfth-day  cake ;  the  poor,  dying  child  she  had 
wept  over  in  the  Middlesex  Hospital ;  and  the  fair,  refined 
looking  young  man  she  had  met  in  the  bookseller's  shop  in 
the  Strand,  were  one  and  the  same,  and  her  son  ! 

Oh  !  how  she  wept  to  hear  even  thus  much !  How  much 
more  bitterly  she  must  have  wept,  had  she  heard  all ! 

"  And  my  heart  also  spoke  ;  but,  ah  !  I  too  misunderstood 
its  language !  "  she  said;  weeping  vehemently. 


412  A      NOBLE     LORD. 

At  that  moment  the  Duke  came  in.  And  she  hastily 
dried  her  tears,  and  smiled. 

"You  have  missed  hearing  our  poor  boy's  story,  Willie  ; 
but  I  will  tell  it  you  to-night." 

"Yes,  dear,  you  shall  do  so.  I  shall  feel  deeply  inter- 
ested in  hearing  it.  Take  comfort,  my  dear  Eglantine. 
Surely  all  is  well  now.  We  have  two  sons  instead  of  one." 

"And  now,  dear  Wellrose,  tell  me  how  he  came  by  the 
name  of  Douglas,  since  no  one  could  have  known  his  right 
to  bear  it  until  the  surgeon's  discovery  ?  "  she  inquired. 

"  I  gave  it  him,"  answered  the  Earl. 

"  Ah  !  you  did  not  misunderstand  the  language  of  your 
heart,  when  it  claimed  him  as  a  brother,"  said  Eglantine, 
with  emotion. 

"I  felt  sure,  by  his  close  resemblance  to  the  family,  con- 
nected with  other  circumstances  he  communicated  to  me, 
that  he  was  our  kinsman.  How  near  a  kinsman  I  never 
guessed.  So  when  he  told  me  the  name  he  bore  was  not 
his  own,  and  not  a  very  desirable  one  either,  and  that  he 
had  no  name,  and  had  never  even  been  baptized — well,  by  a 
sudden  impulse,  or  inspiration,  I  offered  him  mine.  I  told 
him  how  I  could  make  it  his  own — if  not  directly  by  law, 
yet  by  Christianity.  And  so  took  him  to  Christ's  Church, 
and  got  him  baptized  by  the  name  of  Benjamin  Seton 
Douglas.  Under  that  name,  I  got  him  his  commission  as 
ensign  in  a  regiment  of  Foot.  Under  that  name,  he  has 
distinguished  himself  in  the  Crimean  war." 

"  Under  that  name  he  may  hereafter  claim  the  Barony 
of  Seton-Linlithgow,"  said  the  Duchess. 

"And  the  Dukedom  of  Cheviot,  mother,"  added  Lord 
Wellrose. 

The  Duchess  looked  up  inquiringly. 

"  It  is  his  right,  dear  mother.  I  have  pointed  out  to  my 
father  how  this  right  may  be  secured  to  him.  And  what- 
ever it  may  cost  to  you,  to  me,  or  to  any  other,  he  should 
have  it." 


"  PASSING     THE     LOVE      OF      WOMAN.''  413 

"  And  you,  Wellrose  ?  " 

"  I !  Oh,  I  shall  be  the  founder  of  another  line  of  nobles 
from  the  ancient  house  of  Douglas,"  said  the  Earl,  jestingly. 

"  After  all  I  think  more  of  the  hour  when  I  shall  press 
the  poor  boy  to  niy  heart,  than  of  anything  else.  It  is 
hard  to  have  to  wait  until  to-morro\v.  Ah  !  I  see  what  you 
are  thinking  of,  Willie,"  she  said,  as  she  noticed  her  hus- 
band's grave  smile.  "  You  are  thinking  that  if  I  have 
managed  to  wait  all  these  years  for  my  first-born,  I  can 
wait  these  few  hours.  Yes,  but  I  did  not  know  he  was  ou 
earth  all  that  time ;  now  that  I  know  he  is  here,  in  this 
very  house,  hours  seem  ages  till  I  see  him." 

"  '  Time  and  the  hour  weareth  away  the  weariest  day,3  " 
said  the  Duke,  with  a  kindly  smile. 

So  the  day  and  the  night  passed,  and  the  morning  came. 

At  eleven  o'clock  in  the  forenoon,  the  autocrat  of  the 
sick-room,  Doctor  Christopher  Kinlock,  came  down  stairs 
and  notified  to  the  Duke  and  Duchess  that  they  had  his 
professional  authority  for  visiting  his  patient. 

The  Duke  arose  and  drew  the  Duchess'  arm  within  his 
own.  Her  heart  was  beating  fast ;  her  color  went  and 
came  ;  she  panted  with  emotion. 

"  Come  with  us,  Wellrose,"  she  faltered. 

And  the  young  Earl  arose  to  attend  them. 

He  went  up  stairs  before  them,  and  led  the  way  to  his 
brother's  room. 

He  opened  the  door,  and  the  three  entered  together. 

They  found  Benny  lying  on  the  sofa,  propped  up  with 
pillows,  his  fair,  wan  face  turned  toward  them  in  eager 
expectation,  his  golden  hair  flowing  loose. 

"  How  beautiful  he  is  ! "  thought  the  Duchess ;  and  as 
she  met  the  full  gaze  of  those  clear,  gentle  blue  eyes,  and 
caught  the  smile  of  the  delicate  features,  she  felt  as  if  "her 
heart  must  break  at  that  moment.  A  rush  of  tenderness, 
pity,  love,  filled  her  bosom,  and  almost  overwhelmed  her. 


414  A      NOBLE      LORD. 

She  left  her  husband's  arm  and  tottered  toward  him,  and 
sank  beside  his  sofa  and  dropped  her  head  upon  his  heart, 
sobbing : 

"  My  son,  my  son  !     Oh,  my  poor,  poor,  wronged  boy  !" 

He  would  have  risen  and  knelt  at  her  feet,  but  for  his 
great  weakness.  But  he  put  his  wasted  arms  around  her 
neck  and  murmured  : 

"  Mother,  mother  !  sweetest  name  on  earth." 

Then  both  were  silent,  looking  into  each  other's  ej^es,  for 
a  while,  she  sobbing  at  intervals ;  he  with  his  pale  hand 
caressing  her  hair. 

But  soon  she  remembered  that  there  was  another  present 
waiting  to  welcome  their  son.  And  she  arose  from  her  pos- 
ture and  said,  in  a  low  tone : 

"  Your  father,  my  dear." 

And  the  Duke  came  and  knelt,  and  silently  embraced 
his  fading  boy.  For  at  first  he  could  find  no  words  to 
speak.  Then,  after  some  inarticulate  murmurs  of  affec- 
tion, he  said,  with  much  emotion  : 

"  You  know  how  it  was  that  we  lost  you  so  long,  my  poor 
boy  ?  You  know,  I  hope,  that  neither  I " — his  voice  fal- 
tered— "nor  your  dear  mother" — he  choked — "could  have 
been  so  heartless,  so  cruel — "  here  he  broke  down  alto- 
gether. 

Benjamin  took  his  hand,  and  kissed  it. 

"  I  know  all,  dear  father,"  he  said.  "  It  was  no  one's 
fault ;  it  was  my  misfortune.  It  was  kismet." 

"Kismet!  Ah,  you  have  been  in  the  East.  A  Turk  is 
killed  in  battle.  He  falls,  crying,  ' Kismet'  and  dies  con- 
tentedly," said  the  Duke,  with  that  strange  mingling  of 
irrelevant  matter  with  the  most  solemn  business  on  hand, 
tha:  we  sometimes  meet  in  the  most  awful  crises  in  life. 

"  Yet  I  am  indeed  no  fatalist,  dear  mother,"  said  Benny, 
turning  to  the  Duchess,  who  seemed  longing  for  a  glance  or 
a  word  from  her  new  found  SOD. 


"  PASSING     THE      LOVE      OF      WOMAN."  415 

"  No ;  for  I  am  sure  you  are  too  good  a  Christian  to  be 
that,  my  boy  ?  "  she  said. 

"  1  have  heard  of  your  gallant  conduct  in  the  Crimea,  my 
son  ;  of  your  heroism  at  Balaklava,  at  Inkermann,  at  Sebas- 
topol.  You  did  honor  to  the  name  you  bore  there,"  said  the 
Duke,  proudly. 

"  I  did  but  my  duty,"  murmured  Benny. 

"  And  where  got  you  the  wound  with  which  you  are  suf- 
fering now,  my  brave  and  modest  boy  ?  At  the  taking  of 
Sebastopol,  if  I  have  heard  aright — in  planting  the  colors 
of  your  regiment  on  the  walls,  in  the  face  of  a  murderous 
fire.  Was  every  man  a  hero  that  day  also?" 

"  I  do  not  know,"  said  Benny,  smiling;  "but  1  do  know 
that  I  never  should  have  had  the  chance  of  doing  what  I 
did,  if  it  had  not  been  for — " 

He  paused  and  looked  all  around  the  room  until  his  eyes 
lighted  on  the  form  of  the  Earl  of  Wellrose,  standing 
apart ;  and  then  his  face  grew  radiant,  and  he  held  out  both 
his  hands.  For  more  than  princely  father  or  beautiful 
mother,  Benny  loved  this  dear  brother. 

The  Earl  came  to  him,  smiling. 

"  If  it  had  not  been  for  him,  my  father,  Heaven  knows 
where  1  should  have  been  now !  "  said  Benny,  clasping  his 
brother's  hands. 

"  We  know  all  that  he  was  to  you,  my  boy,  even  before 
he  suspected  you  to  be  his  brother.  And  now  that  he 
knows  your  position,  he  is  ready  to  unite  with  us  in  restor- 
ing you  to  all  your  rights." 

"  What  rights  ?  "  asked  Benny  simply,  looking  from  one 
to  the  other. 

For  he  had  not  given  so  much  as  a  thought  to  the 
worldly  advantages  he  would  gain  from  the  establishment 
of  his  birthright.  He  had  thought  only  of  the  rich  inherit- 
ance of  love  he  would  receive. 

"What  rights?"  he  asked  again,  seeing  that  they  only 
looked  at  him  in  surprise. 


416  A     NOBLE     LORD. 

"  Four  rights  as  our  eldest  son  and  heir — your  rights  to 
the  inheritance  of  all  my  titles  and  estates,"  said  the  Duke 
of  Cheviot  gravely  and  firmly. 

Benny  turned  paler  than  ever  before,  and  looked  from  his 
father's  face  to  his  dear  brother's. 

"Does  your  Grace  wish  me  to  understand  then,  that  I 
shall  displace,  disinherit — HIM  ?  " 

"  Yes,  my  boy,  lawfully,  naturally,  inevitably.  You  are 
the  eldest  son,  and  must  take  the  rank  that  he  has  so  long 
erroneously  held,"  replied  the  Duke,  as  one  speaking  from 
authority. 

"  THEN  I'LL  DIE  FIRST,"  said  the  "  elder  brother." 

"  BENJAMIN  ! "  exclaimed  father,  mother  and  brother,  in 
one  breath. 

"  I  will  go  down  to  the  grave  first !  I  shall  die  if  I  do 
not  try  hard  to  live ;  and  I  will  not  try  to  live  :  I  will  try 
to  die,  rather  than  displace,  disinherit  him"  repeated 
Benny.  And  oh  !  the  ineffable  tenderness  he  threw  into 
that  little  monosyllable  " him" 

They  gazed  at  him  in  amazement.  Such  love,  such  dis- 
interestedness even  they  had  never  known. 

"My  dear  brother,"  said  the  young  Earl,  "your  love, 
your  magnanimity  touches  me  deeply.  But  you  may  not 
make  this  sacrifice ;  for  if  you  cannot  think  of  yourself,  you 
must  think  of  her — Suzy." 

"  I  love  Suzy.  I  have  proved  how  I  love  her.  And  I 
know — I  know  that  she  also  would  never  wish  to  dispossess 
you.  Had  she  been  born  with  a  nature  so  selfish  I  could 
never  have  loved  her." 

"  You  hope  to  marry  Suzy  some  day  ?  "  quietly  said  the 
Earl. 

"  If  I  live,  which  is  doubtful." 

"  Then  for  your  posterity  you  should  take  your  rights." 

"  Posterity  ! — shadows  !  dreams !  Leave  all  that  to  time 
and  Providence.  That  does  not  exist  now.  But  what  I 


VICTORY      OF      LOVE.  417 

see  visibly  before  me  —  what  I  touch  tangibly —  is  my 
brother,  iny  dear  brother,"  he  said,  with  infinite  tenderness 
iu  his  tone  and  look,  as  he  took  the  hand  of  the  Earl  and 
pressed  it  to  his  heart,  while  he  gazed  in  his  face  with  unut- 
terable love. 

And  then  the  cough  seized  and  shook  him. 
His  mother  begged  him  to  be  calm,  and  not  to  excite 
himself. 

But  just  as  soon  as  he  had  recovered  from  the  paroxysm, 
he,  still  gazing  in  his  loved  brother's  face,  murmured  softly : 
"  My  brother,  my  dear,  dear  brother,  you  were  more  than 
a  brother  to  me  in  my  bitterest  need — more  than  a  brother 
to  me  when  you  did  not  even  suspect  our  brotherhood.  I 
could  not  even  live,  knowing  that  I  had  dispossessed  you." 

Again   the  cruel   cough  seized  and  shook  him,  as  if  it 
would  have  shaken  him  to  dissolution. 
They  implored  him  not  to  talk. 

The  warning  came  too  late.  The  new  excitement  had 
brought  on  the  hemorrhage  again.  Blood  gushed  in  tor- 
rents from  his  lips,  and  he  fell  back  in  syncope. 


CHAPTER  XLV. 


VICTORY     OF     LOVE. 

Oh,  for  some  heavenly  token, 

By  which  I  may  be  sure 
The  vase  shall  not  be  broken — 

Dispersed  the  essence  pure ! 

Then  spake  the  Angel  of  Mothers 

To  me,  in  gentle  tone : 
Be  kind  to  the  children  of  others, 

And  thus  deserve  thine  own. — I.  W.  H. 


IN  a  moment  all  was  grief,  terror  and  confusion.     The 
surgeon,    the    only    self-possessed    person    about    the    bed, 
26 


418  A      NOBLE      LORD. 

cleared  the  room  of  every  one  except  himself  and  the  jld 
nurse,  Mrs.  Bruce. 

"  No,  your  Grace,  he  is  not  dead,  nor  dying ;  but  his  life 
depends  upon  quiet,"  he  said,  in  answer  to  the  questions  of 
the  agonized  mother,  as  he  led  her  out  into  the  hall. 

"  Then  Heaven  bless  you  for  the  words,"  she  said. 

And  he  went  back  to  his  patient.  And  she  paced  up 
and  down  the  hall,  wringing  her  hands  and  moaning: 

"  Oh,  my  son  !  my  son  !  Oh,  my  poor,  poor  boy !  To 
find  you,  only  to  lose  you !  to  see  you  die  !  Not  to  be  able 
to  make  your  future  atone  for  your  bitter,  bitter  past !  " 

"  Dear  Eglantine,  do  not  -weep  so  bitterly,"  pleaded  the 
Duke,  coming  to  her  side. 

"  Ah,  if  he  had  had  a  happy  life,  I  could  have  better 
borne  to  see  him  die  !  But  he  has  had  such  a  miserable, 
most  miserable  life,  and  now  he  must  die  without  even  ever 
enjoying  happiness ! " 

"  Dear  mother,  it  is  not  certain  that  he  will  die.  He 
ma}7  recover,"  said  the  young  Earl,  coming  up  to  her  other 
side. 

"  Oh,  Wellrose,  no  one  ever  lost  so  much  blood  and  lived. 
His  poor  face  is  white  as  snow  !  Oh,  my  child!  my  child  ! 
Oh,  my  poor,  wronged,  dying  child  ! "  she  moaned,  weep- 
ing and  wringing  her  hands. 

At  this  moment  the  surgeon  came  out  of  the  room,  whis- 
pered to  Lord  Wellrose,  and  immediately  returned. 

"  What  did  the  doctor  say  ?  How  is  my  boy  ?  "  anxious- 
ly inquired  the  mother. 

"  He  is  just  the  same.  And  the  doctor  wishes  me  to 
telegraph  to  Glasgow  for  Dr.  Kerr,  who  is  one  of  the  most 
eminent  surgeons  of  the  day,"  answered  the  young  Earl. 

"  Oh,  do  so  at  once !  Lose  not  an  instant  of  time," 
urged  the  anxious  mother. 

And  the  brother  hurried  away  to  dispatch  a  servant  with 
a  message  to  the  nearest  telegraph  station. 


VICTORY     OF      LOVE.  419 

Meantime  the  Duchess  continued  to  pace  up  and  down 
tlie  hall,  occasionally  stopping  to  listen  at  the  door  of  the 
sick-room. 

The  daily  routine  went  on.  Luncheon  was  announced  at 
the  usual  time.  And  the  family  sat  down  at  table  ;  but  no 
one  ate. 

Early  in  the  afternoon  a  telegram  came  from  the  Glas- 
gow surgeon,  in  answer  to  the  one  that  had  been  sent  him. 
He  would  come  down,  he  said,  by  the  night  train,  and  be 
at  Seton  early  the  next  morning. 

This  was  promising  news. 

Later  in  the  day  the  doctor  brought  a  report  from  the 
sick-room.  "  The  hemorrhage  had  entirely  ceased,  and  the 
patient  had  recovered  from  his  syncope,  but  was  as  weak  as 
he  could  possibly  be  to  live." 

"  Is  there  any  hope  ?  "  almost  breathlessly  inquired  the 
Duchess. 

"  There  is  always  hope,  your  Grace,"  said  the  doctor  to 
the  mother. 

"  Do  let  me  see  him.  I  will  be  very  calm.  Do  let  me 
see  him,"  pleaded  the  Duchess. 

"'Not  to-day,  your  Grace.  The  most  absolute  quiet  is 
vitally  necessary  to  him,"  said  the  doctor  resolutely. 

The  Duke  took  his  arm  and  walked  him  off  to  the  oriel 
window  at  the  end  of  the  hall,  and  inquired  : 

"  Now  how  much  hope  is  there  really  ?  " 

"Not  the  faintest  shadow  of  a  hope,  your  Grace,"  an- 
swered the  doctor. 

"  Even  so  I  feared.  But  in  this  case,  why  may  not  his 
poor  mother  be  permitted  to  see  him  ?  " 

"  Because,  your  Grace,  although  we  may  not  hope  to  save 
his  life,  we  must  not  therefore  hasten  his  death.  And  any 
such  agitation  as  a  visit  from  his  mother  under  present  cir- 
cumstances would  cause,  might  be  instantly  fatal  to  him. 
He  could  not  survive  another  hemorrhage  five  minutes." 


420  A     NOBLE     LORD. 

The  Duke  sighed  deeply,  and  went  down  stairs  to  give 
orders  that  a  boat  should  be  sent  down  the  loch,  to  Seton, 
to  meet  the  Glasgow  surgeon  on  his  arrival. 

And  the  Duchess  returned  to  her  chamber,  and  passed 
the  night  in  praying  as  only  a  mother  can  pray  for  her 
child. 

Early  in  the  morning  the  Glasgow  surgeon  arrived. 

After  a  short  interview  with  the  Duke  and  Duchess,  he 
was  shown  to  the  chamber  of  his  patient. 

After  a  very  careful  examination  of  the  case,  and  a  very 
close  consultation  with  Dr.  Kinlock,  he  entirely  coincided 
with  the  army  surgeon's  opinion,  and  approved  his  treat- 
ment. The  patient,  he  declared,  could  not  possibly  be  in 
better  hands  than  in  those  of  the  country  doctor. 

He  remained  at  Setou  Court  twenty-four  hours,  and  then 
went  back  to  Glasgow,  promising  to  revisit  the  patient  at 
the  end  of  the  week,  or  sooner,  if  called  upon. 

And  the  next  morning,  being  the  third  from  the  day  of 
the  last  terrible  hemorrhage,  the  Duchess  was  permitted  to 
see  her  sou. 

She  had  schooled  her  soul  to  calmness  ;  had  promised  her- 
self and  others  that  she  would  preserve  a  perfect  composure, 
and  neither  do,  nor  say,  nor  look  anything  that  might  dis- 
turb the  sufferer. 

And  so  she  went  into  his  room. 

He  was  propped  up  in  bed,  and  the  light  from  the  bay- 
window  fell  full  upon  him. 

She  went  up  to  his  side.  She  could  control  her  words 
and  actions,  but  not  her  looks  ;  so  when  her  eyes  fell  upon 
his  colorless  and  fleshless  face,  and  met  the  gaze  of  his  hol- 
low eyes,  her  own  face  expressed  all  the  deep  anguish  of  her 
soul. 

He  held  out  both  his  pale  hands  to  her.  Evidently  he 
thought  that  he  was  dying,  and  thought  that  she  knew  he 
was  dying ;  for  his  first  words  were  : 


VICTORY     OF       LOVE.  421 

"  Sweet  mother,  it  seems  very  hard  for  yon,  very,  very 
hard  for  you,  to  lose  your  poor  boy  almost  as  soon  as  you 
have  found  him." 

She  could  scarcely  restrain  her  tears  as  she  pressed  his 
thin  hands  to  her  lips  and  bosom,  and  then  stooped  and 
pressed  her  lips  to  his  in  a  passionate  kiss. 

"  But,  dear  mother,  it  is  so  much  better  for  me  to  die. 
See  how  my  life  would  compromise  you  all,  and  complicate 
the  question  of  inheritance,  and  above  all,  how  it  would 
injure  my  dear  brother,"  he  whispered,  speaking  faintly  and 
with  difficulty,  and  caressing  her  hair  with  his  poor  hand. 

She  lost  all  her  self-control,  and  forgot  all  her  promises. 
She  fell  sobbing  on  his  neck,  exclaiming: 

"  Oh,  my  son  !  my  son  !  Oh,  my  poor,  poor  wronged  boy  ! 
Live  !  live !  live ! — oh,  try  to  live,  for  my  miserable  sake  ! 
Oh,  do  not  die  and  leave  me  to  a  life-long  remorse  !  Oh, 
live !  live !  that  I  may  make  your  future  life  so  bright  and 
happy  that  you  may  forget  your  past !  " 

"  Sweet  mother  !  "  he  murmured,  still  with  his  pale  hand 
caressing  her  beautiful  hair — "  sweet  mother,  you  have  faith, 
I  know.  Have  then  a  RADIANT  faith.  Believe  that,  in 
the  better  world,  your  poor  son's  life  will  be  brighter  and 
happier  far  than  even  your  dear  love  could  ever  make  it 
here.  Have  a  glad,  RADIANT  faith." 

"  Oh,  my  child  !  my  child  !  If  you  had  had  a  happy  life, 
like  all  your  brothers  and  sisters,  I  think  I  could  better 
bear'to  let  you  go!"  she  sobbed,  weeping  bitterly.  "Oh, 
oh,  if  I  could — could  roll  back  the  years,  dear  love ! — undo 
your  dreadful  past,  and  make  that  happy,  I  could — I  think 
I  could  bear  to  let  you  go." 

"Dear  mother,  can  any  but  Heaven  do  that?  Sweet 
mother,  if  you  sorrow  so  bitterly  over  my  miserable  past, 
let  that  sorrow  teach  you  to  pity  and  succor  the  thousands 
and  thousands  of  poor,  neglected,  innocent  little  ones,  su<-h 
as  1  was  once,  who  every  day  perish  of  want,  or  live — oh, 


A      NOBLE      LORD. 

mother! — to  grow  up  in  ignorance,  vice  and  misery,  to  fill 
the  prisons  or  to  freight  the  gallows.  Sweet  mother!  you 
are  very  rich  and  powerful ;  save  the  children,  for  my  sake, 
and  I  shall  not  have  suffered  and  died  in  vain !  "  he  said, 
and  his  brow  grew  radiant  as  the  face  of  an  angel. 

The  doctor  came  quietly  to  lead  the  lady  away.  The  in- 
terview, he  whispered,  had  been  too  long  already. 

She  stooped  and  kissed  her  boy's  bright  brow  again  and 
again,  and  then  she  went  away. 

The  doctor  came  back  to  the  bedside  of  his  patient. 

"  You  must  not  give  way  to  thoughts  of  death,"  he  said 
encouragingly ;  for,  though  he  had  not  a  hope  in  the  world 
of  saving  Benny's  life,  yet  he  continued  to  flatter  him  with 
delusions. 

"  It  is  better  that  I  should  die,  doctor.  My  position  is  a 
false  one.  Legitimate  in  one  country,  illegitimate  in  another, 
I  am  in  a  false  position  ;  and  my  life  compromises  everybody, 
complicates  everything  connected  with  me,  and  most  of  all 
my  beautiful  mother  and  my  beloved  brother.  Don't  you 
see  that  I  must  die  ?  "  he  murmured  faintly. 

"  Not  by  any  means.  All  these  complications  can  be 
straightened  out  by  a  simple  act  of  the  House  of  Lords,  as 
has  been — " 

"  Let  us  talk  no  more  about  it,  dear  doctor.  Even  if  I 
could  live,  no  such  thing  should  be  done,  with  my  consent. 
And  if  it  were  done  without  it,  I  would  never  profit  by 
my  dear  brother's  loss.  But  I  shall  die.  And  there  an  end." 

The  doctor  said  no  more  then. 

Later  in  the  day,  when  the  Earl  of  Wellrose  inquired  as 
to  his  brother's  state,  Dr.  Kinlock  answered : 

"  The  worst  of  it,  and  what  makes  the  case  so  utterly 
hopeless  is,  that  he  does  not  seem  to  care  to  live." 

"  Oh,  if  Susan  were  here !  Why  does  not  that  ship  come 
in  ?  "  murmured  the  Earl  to  himself. 

At  that  very  moment  a  footman  catne  in,  and  brought  the 
mail  bag  from  the  Seton  post-office. 


VICTORY      OF      LOVE.  423 

Lord  Wellrose  emptied  it.  There  were  many  letters  for- 
warded from  London.  Among  them  was  one  that  Lord 
Wellrose  seized  first  of  all.  It  bore  the  Southampton  post- 
mark. It  was  from  Suzy,  and  it  announced  her  arrival  in 
England.  Mrs.  Brown,  the  curate's  widow,  was  her  com- 
panion. They  were  coming  up  to  London,  and  should  take 
apartments  at  the  Brunswick  Hotel,  Berners  street,  whore 
their  letters  were  to  be  addressed. 

Lord  Wellrose,  neglecting  all  the  other  contents  of  the 
mail  bag,  took  Suzy's  letter,  and  went  to  his  mother. 

He  found  the  Duchess  in  her  boudoir,  weeping. 

He  put  Suzy's  letter  in  her  hand,  and  begged  her  to  read 
it. 

She  complied  as  well  as  her  tear-laden  eyes  would  let  her. 
And  then  she  looked  up  inquiringly  at  the  face  of  her  son. 

"It  is  from  the  girl  he  loves,  and  whom  he  resigned  be- 
cause he  thought  I  loved  her :  and  in  the  magnanimity  of 
his  soul  preferred  my  happiness  to  his  own." 

"  Wellrose  !  what  is  all  this,  my  dear?" 

"  Listen,  mother  dear,  and  I  will  explain,"  said  the  young 
man.  And  he  told  the  story  of  his  acquaintance  with  Suzy 
and  Benny,  leaving  out  such  portions  of  it  only  as  must  have 
wounded  the  spirit  of  the  Duchess. 

"And  now,  dear  mother,  I  wish  you  to  invite  this  young 
lady  to  come  here.  If  anything  on  earth  can  rouse  and  save 
my  brother,  it  will  be  the  presence  of  his  love." 

"  She  is  a  pure-spirited  and  noble-hearted  girl,  from  all  you 
have  told  me,  Wellrose.  And  if  she  can  do  my  poor  boy 
any  good,  she  shall  be  most  welcome,"  said  the  Duchess. 

And  she  immediately  sat  down  and  wrote  the  letter  of  in- 
vitation, that  it  might  be  in  time  for  the  first  mail. 

Lord  Wellrose  also  wrote,  telling  her  that  Benjamin  was 
ill  at  Seton  Court,  explained  as  much  of  the  circumstances 
as  he  deemed  prudent  to  trust  in  a  letter,  and  implored  her 
to  accept  his  mother's  pressing  invitation,  and  come  at  once 
to  Seton  Court  to  rouse  Benjamin. 


424  A      NOBLE      LORD. 

These  letters  dispatched,  Lord  Wellrose  went  up  to  cheer 
his  brother  with  the  intelligence. 

"  I  have  good  news  for  you,  ray  dear  fellow,"  he  said, 
cheerfully,  as  he  sat  down  by  his  brother's  bed. 

Benny  lifted  his  blue  eyes  inquiringly. 

"  Susan  has  arrived  in  England.  She  is  in  Southampton. 
Nay,  indeed,  by  this  time  she  must  be  in  London." 

"  Suzy  has  come  back!  Suzy  is  in  London!  Oh!  I 
wish  I  could  see  her!"  said  Benny  eagerly,  brightening  up 
at  once. 

"  You  shall  see  her  in  a  few  days.  My  mother  has  written 
and  invited  her  to  come  here." 

"  Suzy  coming  here  !  "  said  Benjamin,  joyfully. 

"  Yes,  assuredly,  as  soon  as  our  letters  can  reach  her,  and 
she  can  make  the  journey ;  for  she  will  not  neglect  so  press- 
ing a  call,  I  am  sure,  nor  will  she  lose  an  hour  on  the  road." 

"  Thank  Heaven  !  And  oh  !  I  thank  you  too,  AVellrose  ! 
I  owe  all  the  good  I  have,  under  Heaven,  to  you.  I  thank 
you,  my  dear  brother." 

"Cheer  up,  now!  Take  your  nourishment.  Resolve  to 
live,  for  Suzy  is  coining.  And  our  mother  will  make  her 
welcome." 

"  Does  our  mother  know  ?  " 

"She  knows  of  your  mutual  love;  for  I  told  her  this 
morning.  That  is  the  reason  why  she  wrote  for  Suzy." 

"  Bless  you  !     Bless  her ! "  said  Benny,  fervently. 

"Now  here  comes  Mrs.  Bruce  with  your  broth.  I  order 
you  to  take  it  all,  and  then  to  go  to  sleep,"  said  the  Earl,  as 
he  went  out. 

Oh,  magic  of  love  !  Elixir  of  life  !  From  the  time  that 
Benny  heard  that  Suzy  was  coming,  and  began  to  look  for- 
ward to  her  arrival,  he  brightened  and  mended  day  by  day. 

And  his  mother  saw  it  and  rejoiced. 

On  the  third  day  from  the  sending  of  the  letters,  Suzy, 
having  travelled  day  and  night,  arrived  at  Seton  Court. 

She  was  not  at  all  like  the  brilliant  Mademoiselle  Arielle 


VICTORY      OF      LOVE.  425 

of  that  dazzling  London  season  that  began  in  triumph  and 
ended  in  tragedy.  She  was  a  "  grave  fairy,"  with  golden 
hair,  blue  eyes  and  blooming  face,  habited  in  a  plain  metho- 
distical  suit  of  gray  serge,  that  might  have  became  her 
grandmother. 

The  Duchess  received  her  with  a  kiss,  called  her  her  dear 
child,  and  took  her  to  a  pleasant  bedroom  where  she  could 
change  her  dress,  while  Lord  Wellrose  went  to  prepare 
Benny  to  receive  her. 

In  a  few  minutes  more,  Suzy,  leaning  on  the  Duchess' 
arm,  entered  Benny's  chamber. 

He  was  lying  as  usual  propped  up  by  pillows,  and  with 
the  light  of  the  window  falling  on  his  fair,  wan,  spiritual 
face.  He  held  out  his  hands  to  his  love.  But  as  soon  as 
she  saw  what  a  mere  shadow  he  was,  she  sank  on  her  knees 
beside  his  bed  and  burst  into  tears,  and  sobbed  as  though 
her  heart  would  have  broken. 

Under  other  circumstances  this  violent  emotion  might 
have  hurt  the  invalid.  But  he  was  stronger  now.  He  put 
his  hands  around  her  fair  head,  and  murmured  softly  : 

'•'Weep  no  more,  dear  Suzy.  Dear,  dearest  Suzy,  weep 
no  more.  You  are  here  now,  and  all  is  well." 

But  she  could  not  stop  weeping  all  at  once.  Indeed,  she 
wept  the  more. 

"Mother,"  inquired  Benny,  softly,  "is  she  to  be  my 
wife?"  . 

"Yes,  dearest,  if  she  will,"  as  softly  answered  the 
Duchess. 

"If  she  will!  Why,  of  course  she  will.  We  have  been 
engaged  ever  since  we  were  seven  years  old ;  have  we  not, 
love  ?  "  he  inquired,  caressing  the  fair  hair. 

"  Yes,  Benny,  only  for  one  short  season  when  I  lost  ray 
senses.  But  oh,  my  dear !  when  I  saw  you  about  to  lay 
down  your  life  for  my  sake,  I  knew  how  you  loved  me,  and 
discovered  how  I  loved  you  also,"  murmured  Suzy,  in  an 
almost  inaudible  voice. 


426  A     NOBLE      LORD. 

"Engaged  since  we  were  seven  years  old,  dear  mother, 
and  that  was  nearly  twenty  years  ago,"  said  Benny,  brightly 
smiling  up  into  his  mother's  face. 

"And  that  is  quite  a  long  engagement — quite  long 
enough.  It  should  be  ended  soon  now  in  marriage,"  an- 
swered the  Duchess,  smiling  back. 

"  Suzy,  love,  our  childish  dreams  will  be  realized,"  mur- 
mured Benny,  trying  to  raise  her.  But  he  was  as  yet  too 
feeble ;  so  she  got  up  and  sat  by  his  side,  holding  his  hand, 
and  continuing  to  hold  it  until  the  surgeon  came  with  his 
peremptory  orders  that  all  should  now  leave  the  room,  that 
his  patient  might  seek  repose  in  sleep. 

A  little  later  in  the  day  Suzy  was  presented  to  the  Duke, 
who  received  her  courteous!}',  and  kissed  her  cheek. 

A  little  later  still,  she  had  a  word  apart  with  the  Earl  of 
Well  rose. 

"  I  see  that  you  not  only  forgive  me,  but  thank  me,  Lord 
Wellrose,  for  setting  you  free,"  she  said  pleasantly. 

He  bowed  and  smiled. 

"  I  wish  you  much  joy,  fair  sister,"  he  said. 

"  Thanks.  And  you  ?  When  am  I  to  congratulate 
you  ?  "  she  archly  inquired. 

11  In  a  few  days,  I  hope." 

And  then  he  gave  her  his  arm,  to  lead  her  in  to  dinner. 

From  that  time  Suzy  was  encouraged  to  spend  the  greater 
portion  of  every  day  in  Benny's  room.  And  his  improve- 
ment was  thenceforth  very  rapid.  The  surgeon  expressed 
astonishment  at  it.  The  old  nurse  declared  it  was  a  miracle. 

Soon  Benny  was  able  to  leave  his  bed,  and  soon  after,  his 
chamber.  In  a  fortnight  from  the  day  of  Susan's  arrival, 
he  dined  with  the  family. 

Meanwhile  the  autumn  was  waning  into  winter,  and  the 
weather  in  the  Highlands  becoming  very  bleak. 

One  day  the  Glasgow  surgeon  arrived  on  a  visit,  and  ho 
advised  that  Captain  Douglas  should  spend  the  winter  on 
the  South  coast. 


VICTORY      OF      LOVE.  427 

Therefore  the  family  all  went  down  to  the  Duke's  marine 
residence  at  Brunswick  Terrace,  Brighton. 

Here  they  were  soon  joined  by  the  daughters  of  the  Duke 
and  Duchess,  and  also  by  the  Lady  Hiuda  Moray. 

And  here  Benjamin — 0,  triumphs  of  time  ! — found  him- 
self in  the  same  sea-side  palace,  the  beloved  son,  the  centre 
of  a  fond  domestic  circle,  where  once  he  had  been  taken  in, 
a  poor  street  boy.  He  was  recognized  as  Captain  Benjamin 
Seton  Douglas,  Master  of  Seton,  and  heir  of  the  old  Scottish 
Barony  of  Linlithgow,  in  right  of  his  mother  by  her  first 
marriage  ;  heir  also,  in  certain  contingencies,  of  the  ancient 
Dukedom  of  Cheviot. 

But  Benny  would  in  nowise  consent  that  any  step  should 
be  taken  to  reinstate  him  in  any  position  by  which  the 
brother  he  loved  more  than  life  should  be  a  loser.  Nay,  he 
declared  most  positively,  that  if  any  movement  should  be 
made  to  establish  his  right  to  the  heirship  of  the  Dukedom 
of  Cheviot,  at  his  brother's  expense,  he  would  at  once  give 
up  parents,  country,  and  home,  and  take  Suzy  and  go  with 
her  to  the  uttermost  parts  of  the  earth. 

And  they  knew  that  he  would  keep  his  word. 

And  then  he  stretched  forth  his  hand,  and  elapsed  his 
father's,  saying  gayly,  and  yet  tenderly : 

"  I  am  the  son  of  *  Bonnie  Willie  Douglas '  and  his  fair 
bride  Eglantine,  and  not  of  the  most  noble  the  Duke  and 
the  Duchess  of  Cheviot.  You  never  dreamed  of  inheriting 
your  great-uncle's  dukedom  when  you  married  my  mother, 
dear  father,  did  you  ?  "  he  asked,  with  a  smile.  "And  after 
all,"  he  continued,  "  why  all  this  talk  about  an  inheritance 
so  many  happy,  happy  years  off  yet  ?  Our  father  is  a  man 
in  his  prime — not  over  forty-five  or  six,  and  may  and  prob- 
ably will  live  a  half  century  longer.  Trust  in  Providence 
and  in  the  triumphs  of  time.  " 

***#*** 

Time  has  accomplished  its  many  triumphs,  and  will 
also  accomplish  many  more.  It  is  now  fifteen  years  since 


428  A      NOBLE     LORD. 

Benjamin  Seton  Douglas,  Master  of  Seton,  married  his 
love,  Susan,  and  took  up  his  residence  at  Seton  Court,  on 
the  loch  ;  since  the  Earl  of  Wellrose  married  Lady  Hinda 
Moray,  and  fixed  his  abode  at  Wellrose  Park,  in  Sussex. 

The  Duke  and  Duchess  of  Cheviot  are  now  a  handsome, 
healthy,  happy  couple,  really  considerably  over  sixty  years 
of  age,  but  not  looking  more  than  forty,  and  likely  to.  live 
to  complete  their  century.  Both  their  sons  and  all  their 
daughters  being  married,  they  have  even  more  grandchil- 
dren than  her  gracious  Majesty  the  Queen,  which  is  saying 
a  great  deal. 

Captain  and  Mrs.  Seton  Douglas  have  five  fair  daughters, 
but  no  son  ;  and  as  their  youngest  daughter  is  eight  years 
old,  it  is  nearly  certain  that  they  never  will  have  one. 

But  the  Earl  and  Countess  of  Wellrose  have  both  sons 
and  daughters. 

And  the  complicated  question  of  inheritance  will  clear 
itself  in  this  way  : 

The  eldest  son  of  the  Earl  of  Wellrose,  styled  Viscount 
Douglas,  is  of  course  the  lineal  heir,  after  his  father,  of  the 
Dukedom  of  Cheviot.  He  is  a  dark,  gipsyish  looking 
youth  of  fourteen,  with  much  of  his  mother's  warm  Hindoo 
blood  in  his  veins.  With  the  precocity  of  his  part  Eastern 
nature,  he  has  fallen  in  love  with  his  fair  cousin  Eglantine, 
the  eldest  daughter  of  Captain  Seton  Douglas,  and  she 
certainly  returns  his  affection ;  while  the  parents  on  both 
sides,  for  excellent  reasons,  favor  their  attachment.  And 
in  the  future  marriage  of  these  young  people  the  estates 
of  both  brothers  will  be  united. 


THE    END. 


T,  B.  PETERSON  AND  BROTHERS'  PUBLICATIONS. 


NEW  BOOKS  ISSUED  EVEKY  WEEK. 

Comprising  the  most  entertaining  and  absorbing  Works  published, 
suitable  for  the  Parlor,  Library,  Sitting  Room,  Railroad  or 

Steamboat  Reading,  by  the  best  writers  in  the  world. 

fjgjt'  Orders  solicited  from  Booksellers,  Librarians,  Canvassers,  News 

Agents,  and  all  others  in  want  of  good  and  fast  selling 

books,  which  will  be  supplied  at  very  Low  Prices.  «^l 


MRS.  ANN  S.  STEPHENS'  WORKS. 


The  Curse  of  Gold, $1  50 


Mabel's  Mistake, 
Doubly  False, 


The  Soldiers' Orphans, 1  50 

Silent  Struggles, I  50 

Tho  Heiress, 1  50 


The  Wife's  Secret, $1  50 

The  Rejected  Wife, 1  50 

Fashion  and  Famine, 1  50 

The  Old  Homestead, 1  50 

The  Gold  Brick, 1  50 

Mary  Derwent, 1  50 


The  above  are  each  in  paper  cover,  or  in  cloth,  price  $1.75  each. 

MRS.  EMMA  D.  E.  N.  SOUTHWORTH'S  WORKS. 


Tho  Changed  Brides, $1  50 

Tho  Brides'  Fate.  A  Sequel  to 

"The  Changed  Bride?," 1  50 

Fair  Play, '. 1  50 

How  He  Won  Hjr.  A  Sequel 

to  "Fair  Play," 1  50 

Fallen  Pride, 1  50 

The  Prince  of  D.irkii^s, 1  50 

The  Widow's  Son, 1  50 

The  Bride  of  LlBwelly.i, 1  50 

The  Fortune  Seeker, 1  50 

Atlworth  Abboy,  1  50 

The  Bridal  Eve 1  50 

The  Fatal  Marriage 1  50 

ILiunted  Homestead 1  50 


The  Lost  Heiress, $1  50 

Lady  of  the  Isle, 1  50 

Vivia;  or  the  Secret  of  Power,.  1  50 

Love's  Labor  Won, ]  50 

Deserted  Wife, 1  50 

The  Gipsy's  Prophecy, 1  50 

The  Mother-in-Law, 1  50 

The  Missing  Bride, 1  50 

The  Two  Sisters, 1  50 

The  Three  Beauties, 1  50 

Wife's  Victory, 1  50 

Retribution, 1  50 

India  ;    Pearl  of  Pearl  River,..  1  50 

Curse  of  Clifton, 1  50 

Discarded  Daughter, 1  50 


The  above  are  each  in  paper  cover,  or  in  cloth,  price  $1.75  each. 

MRS.   CAROLINE  LEE  HENTZ'S  WORKS. 


The  Planter's  Northern  Bride,..  1  50 
Linda  ;  or,  the  Young  Pilot  of 

the  Belle  Creole, 1  50 

R  >bort  Graham.  The  Sequel 

to  "Linda," 1  50 

Courtship  and  Marriage, 1  50 


Ernost  Lin  wood, 1 

Marcus  Warland,...  ..    I 


Ilena;  or,  the  Snow  Bird, 

The  Lost  Daughter, 

Love  after  Marriage, 

Eolino;  or,  Magnolia  Vale,.... 

The  Banished  Son, 

Helen  and  Arthur, 

Forsaken  Daughter, 

Planter's    Daughter,., 


The  above  are  each  in  paper  cover,  or  in  cloth,  price  $1.75  each. 

f REDRIKA  BREMER'S  WORKS. 


1  50 
1  50 
1  50 
1  50 
1  50 
1  50 
1  50 
1  50 


Father  and  Daughter,. 
The  Four  Sisters,. 


TheNeighbors, 1   50 

The  Home, M   \   50 

The  above  are  each  in  paper  cover,  or  in  cloth,  price  $1.75  each. 

Life  in    the   Old  World;   or,  Two  Years  in  Switzerland  and  Italy, 
By  Miss  Bremer,  in  two  volumes,  cloth,  price, 


1   50 
1  50 


$3.50 


Sooks    sent,  postage  paid,  on  receipt  of   the  Retail    Price,  by 
T.  B.  Peterson  &  Brothers,  Philadelphia,  Pa.  fl) 


2  T.  B.  PETERSON  &  BROTHERS'  PUBIICATICKS. 
BEST  COOK  BOOKS  PUBLISHED. 

The  Young  Wife's  Cook  Book, Cloth,  $1  75 

Miss  Leslie's  New  Cookery  Book, Cloth,  1  75 

Mr*.  Halo's  New  Cook  Book, Cloth,  1  75 

Mrs.  Goodfellow's  Cookery  as  it  Should  Be, Cloth,  1  75 

Petersons' New  Cook  Book, Cloth,  1  75 

Widahield's  New  Cook  Book, Cloth,  1  75 

The  National  Cook  Book.  By  a  Practical  Houscwil'e, Cloth,  1  75 

Miss  Leslie's  New  Receipts  for  Cooking, Cloth,  1  75 

Mrs.  Bale's  Receipts  for  the  Million, Cloth,  1  75 

The  Family  Save-All.  By  author  of  ''National  Cook  Book,".Cloth,  I  76 
Fnmcatelli's  Celebrated  French,  Italian,  Gorman,  and  English 

Cook  Book.     The  Modern  Cook.    With  Sixty-two  illustrations. 

Complete  in  six  hundred  large  octavo  pages, Cloth,  5  00 

WORKS  BY  THE  VERY  BEST  AUTHORS. 

The  fallowing  books  are  each  i»sued  in  one  large  duodecimo  volume,  in 
fiper  cover,  at  §1.50  each,  or  each  one  is  bound  in  cloth,  at  $1.75  each. 

The  Initials.      A  Love  Story.      By  Baroness  Tautpliceus, $1   50 

Why  Did  He  Marry  Her  ?     By  Miss  Eliza  A.  Dupuy 1   50 

The  Macderinots  of  Ballyclonm.     By  Anthony  Trollope, 1   50 

Lost  Sir  Massingbcrd.     By  the  author  of  "  Carlyon's  Year," ]   50 

The  Planter's    Daughter.     By  Miss  Eliza  A.  Dupuy, 1   50 

Dream  Numbers.     By  T.  Adolphus  Trollope,  author  of  "Gemma,"...  1   50 

Leonora  Casaloni;  or,  the  Marriage  Secret.     By  T.  A.  Trollope 1   50 

Thy  Forsaken  Daughter.     A  Companion  to  "Linda," ]   50 

Love  and  Liberty.     A  Revolutionary  Story.     By  Alexander  Dumas,  1   £0 

Family  Pride.     By  author  of  "  Pique,"  "  Family  Secrets,"  etc 1  50 

f?i',lf-rf;icrifice.     By  author  of  "  Margaret  Maitlnnd,"  elr 1   50 

The  Woman  in  Black.     A  Companion  to  the  "Woman  hi  Wl  he/' ...   1   50 

A  Woman's  Thoughts  about  Women.      By  Miss  Muloeh,. 1  50 

Fli !•(,•> lit ius  in  Fashionable  Life.     By  Catharine  Sinclair, ]   50 

Rose  Douglas.   A  Companion  to  "  Family  Piide,"  nnd  "  Sell  Sacrifice,"  1  50 

False  Pride;  or,  Two  \Vn ys  to  Matrimony.      A  Charming  Took 1   50 

Family  Secrets.     A  Companion  to   "Family  Pride,"  and  "  P;que,"...   1   50 

The  Morrisons.     By  Mrs.  Margaret   Hosmer, 1   50 

Beppo:  T'ne  Conscript.  By  T.  A.  Trollope,  author  <>f  "  G<  inmit,"....  1  50 
Gemma.  An  Italian  Story.  By  T.  A.  Trollope,  author  of  ••  Eeppo,"  1  50 

Marietta.     By  T.  A.  Trollope,  author   of  "  Gennun," 1   60 

My  Son'?  Wife.     By  author  of  "  Caste,"  "Mr.  Arle,"  etc 1  50 

Tiie  Rich  Husband.     By  author  of  "  George  Geith," 1   50 

Harem  Life  in  Egypt  and  Constantinople.      By  F.mmeline  Lett, 1  50 

Tho  Rector's  Wife;  or,  the  Valley  of  a  Hundred  Fires ]    50 

Woodhnrn  Grange.     A  Novel.      By  William  How  iu, 150 

Country  Quarters.     By  the  Countess  of  Rle^ini:  Inn. 1   60 

Out  of  the  Depths.     The  Story  of  a  "WownV  Life," 1  60 

The  Coquette;  or,  the  Life  and  Letters  of  Eiiza  Wharton ]   50 

The  Pride  of  Life.     A  Story  of  the  Heart.     By  Lady  J;me  Scott 1   50 

Tho  Lost  Beauty.     By  a  Noted  Lady  of  the  Spanish  Court 1   50 

Saratoga.     An  Indian  Tale  of  Frontier  Life.   A  true  Story  ol  1787,..  1   50 

Married  at  Last.     A  Love  Story.     By  Annie  Thomn- 1   50 

Tne  Quaker  Soldier.  A  Revolutionary  Romance.  By  Jmlire  J<UK  >.....  1  50 
Tho  Man  of  the  World.  An  Autobiography.  By  William  North,...  1  50 
Tho  Queen's  Favorite  ;  or,  The  Price  of  a  Crown.  A  Love  Story,...  1  59 
Self  Love:  or,  The  Afternoon  of  Single  nnd  Married  Life 1  60 

The  above  books  are  each  in  pnper  cover,  or  in  cloth,  price  $1-75  each. 

gi£*  Books   sent,    postage  paid,  on  Receipt  of  tb.3  Retail  Price,  by 
T.  3.  Peterson  &  Broilers,  Philadelphia,  Pa. 


PETERSON'S  MAGAZINE 

*» 

CHEAPEST  AND  BEST  OF  ALL! 


Splendid  Offers  for  1S72. 


This  popular  Monthly  Magazine  gives  more  for  the  money  than  any  in  the  world. 
It  has  the  best  colored  fashions,  the  best  original  stories,  and  the  best  engravings 
of  any  lady's  book.  Great  and  costly  improvements  will  be  made  in  1872,  when  it 
will  contain 

ONE  THOUSAND  PAGES! 

FOURTEEN  SPLENDID  STEEL  PLATES! 

TWELVE  COLORED  BERLIN  PATTERNS  ! 
TWELVE  MAM350TH  COLORED  FASHIONS! 
ONE  THOUSAND  WOOD  CUTS! 

TWENTY-FOUR  PAGES  OF  MUSIC! 
All  this  will  be  given  for  only  TWO  DOLLARS  a  year,  or  a  dollar  less  than 
Magazines  of  the  class  of  "  Peterson."    Its 

THRILLING  TALES  AND  NOVELETTES 

Are  the  best  published  anywhere.  Att  the  most  popular  writers  are  employed  to 
write  originally  for  "  Peterson."  In  1872,  in  addition  to  its  usual  quantity  of  short 
eiories,  *FIVE  ORIGINAL  COPYRIGHT  NOVELETS  will  be  given,  viz:  BOUQM 
AV'ITH  A  PRICE,  by  Ann  S.  Stephens;  THE  ISLAND  OF  DIAMONDS,  by  Harry  Danforth; 
Oxen  Too  OFTKX,  by  Franlc  Lee  Benedict;  LINDSAY'S  LUCK,  by  Miss  F.  Hodgson;  and 
A  WIFE,  YET  Not  A  WIFE,  by  the  author  of  "The  Second  Life." 

MAMMOTH  COLORED  FASHION  PLATES 

Ahead  of  all  others.  These  plates  are  engraved  on  steel,  TWICE  TH*  USUAL  SIZE, 
rui'l  contain  six  figures.  They  will  be  superbly  colored.  Also,  several  pages  of 
Household  and  other  receipts  ;  in  short,  everything  interesting  to  ladies. 


TERMS — Always  in  advance: 

One  copy,  for  one  year $  2  00 

1  •  vi<  copies,  for  one  year 8  00 

Eight  copies,  for  one  year 12  00 


SUPERB  PREMIUM  ENGRAVING! 

Svery  person  getting  up  a  club  of  five  at  $1.60  each,  or  eight  at  $1.50  each,  will 
1  >  entitled  to  an  extra  copy  of  the  Magazine,  for  1872,  and  also  to  a  copy  of  the 
r;:nerb  parlor  mezzotint  (size  24  inches  by  18),  "  Five  Times  One  To-Day,"  which, 
a:  ;i  store,  would  cost  four  dollars. 

X£g-  Specimens  sent  gratis,  to  those  wishing  to  get  up  Clubs. 
Address, 

CHARLES  J.  PETERSON, 

LNo.  30G  Chestnut  Street,  Philadelphia,  Pa. 


MRS.  EMMA  D.  E.  N.  SOUTHWORTH'S  WORKS. 

Each  Work  is  complete  in  one  large  duodecimo  volume, 

A    NOBLE    LORD.     Sequel  to    "  The  Lost  Heir  of  Linlithgow." 
TEE  LOST  HEIR  OF  LINLITHGOW. 
THE  FAMILY  DOOM;  or,  THE  SIN  OF  A  COUNTESS. 
THE  MAIDEN  WIDO  W.    Sequel  to  "  The  Family  Doom." 
CRUEL  AS  THE  GRAVE. 
THE  PRINCE  OF  DARKNESS. 
THE  MOTHER-IN-LAW. 
THE  DESERTED  WIFE. 

THE  CHANGED  BRIDES. 

THE  BRIDE'S  FATE.    SEQUEL  TO  CHANGED  BRIDES. 
TRIED  FOR  HER  LIFE.     A  Sequel  to  "Cruel  as  the  Grave." 
THE  BRIDE  OF  LLEWELLYN. 
THE  GIPSY'S  PROPHECY. 
THE  FORTUNE  SEEKER. 
THE  LOST  HEIRESS. 
THE  CHRISTMAS  GUEST. 
THE  BRIDAL  E  VE. 

THE  THREE  BEAUTIES. 

FAIR  PLAY;  OR,  THE  TEST  OF  THE  LONE  ISLE. 
HOW  HE  WON  HER.     SE  Q  UEL  TO  ' '  FAIR  PLA  Y." 
THE  FATAL  MARRIAGE. 

THE  HAUNTED  HOMESTEAD. 
LOVE'S  LABOR  WON. 

THE  MISSING  BRIDE. 
LADY  OF  THE  ISLE. 

THE  WIFE'S  VICTORY. 
THE  TWO  SISTERS. 

FALLEN  PRIDE;  OR,  THE  MOUNTAIN  GIRL'S  LOVE. 
INDIA;    OR,  THE  PEARL  OF  PEARL  RIVER. 
VIVIA;  OR,  THE  SECRET  OF  POWER. 
THE  CURSE  OF  CLIFTON. 

THE  DISCARDED  DAUGHTER. 
THE  WIDOW'S  SON. 
ALL  WORTH  ABBEY. 

RETRIBUTION. 
Price  of  each,  $1.75  in  Cloth ;   or  $1.50  in  Paper  Cover. 


Above  books  are  for  sale  by  all  Booksellers.  Copies  of  any  or 
all  of  the  above  books  will  be  sent  to  any  one,  to  any  place, 
postage  pro-paid,  on  receipt  of  their  price  by  the  Publishers, 

T.  B.  PETERSON  &  BROTHERS, 

3U6  CIIJJSTXL-T  STKEET,  PUILAD&LFUIA,  PA. 


9 


